The team’s maneuvering to counter this threat has proven smooth and fluid, with even the more erratic movements playing out in a predictable manner, akin to pieces falling into place, a matter of inevitability. In a silver flash of monofilament, Taipan draws his blade and slices through the air in a clean sweep of metal seeking metal.
(( Do the Iaijutsu thing? Knife goes in, drone-guts come out? ))
Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Dice
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
The low vibrations of a chuckle reverberates through the nearby space, as Thoryne eyes the flailing mass of servos and gun, and raises his own AK-98 to meet it. "Well, isn't that cute." As with the chattering of an insect answering another in kind, the troll squeezes the trigger, piercing the air with the increasingly familiar rhythm of automatic fire.
(( Full auto? ))
(( Full auto? ))
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Dice
Whirlwind, following the troll's lead, swoops in and fires on the same trajectory. The rounds enter the holes made by Thoryne, destroying vital components of the crab's central processor. The articulated legs spasm, and the sensor array goes dark.
Yung rolls out from underneath the drone, just in time to avoid being crushed as it collapses on its own weight.
A few spasms still rack the drone, but it appears wholly inoperative.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
A pair of dark eyes peer in from the frame of the blast door, immediately followed up by the rapid scuffling of feet, and shrill creaks and groans from the ancient wheelchair. She can’t help but swallow heavily as her eyes flit toward the pile of once-carefully-engineered scrap and what used to be its spindly appendages. "F."
There’s a pair of metallic thuds as the decker shoves the antique wheelchair through the threshold of the cellblock. She continues as she pushes inward, nodding her head toward the drone wreckage in illustration. "THAT ONE MAY HAVE CROSSED THE RIBBON-CABLE BRIDGE, BUT I SAW 5 OTHER ICONS IN HERE. COULD BE CAMERAS, OR IT MIGHT HAVE FRIENDS." She parks the chair behind one of the mesh-walled cages and swings her arms in place briefly, as though she’d finished some kind of actual exercise versus merely pushing a sticky-wheeled chair a few meters forward. "SO I’M JUST GOING TO CHILL HERE WITH RACIST-GRANDPA WHILE I TAKE A LOOK."
"NOT SURE IF YOU GUYS HAVE A BETTER PLAN THAN UNMASKING EACH ONE OF THESE GUYS LIKE A CARTOON VILLAIN." She points a finger toward the old-school terminal. "BUT MAYBE THE TANDY HAS AN UPDATED DIRECTORY? ASSUMING IT’S NOT THE SAME DREK WE’VE ALREADY SEEN." She braces herself slightly against the chair as she crouches down in an increasingly familiar gesture. "I CAN CHECK IT WHEN I’M BACK UP, BUT THAT TECH IS ANCIENT ENOUGH THAT EVEN REIYA COULD WORK IT."
(( Dive in to identify the silent icons? Since we're out of initiative and in matrix speed, she'd probably just hit them all. ))
There’s a pair of metallic thuds as the decker shoves the antique wheelchair through the threshold of the cellblock. She continues as she pushes inward, nodding her head toward the drone wreckage in illustration. "THAT ONE MAY HAVE CROSSED THE RIBBON-CABLE BRIDGE, BUT I SAW 5 OTHER ICONS IN HERE. COULD BE CAMERAS, OR IT MIGHT HAVE FRIENDS." She parks the chair behind one of the mesh-walled cages and swings her arms in place briefly, as though she’d finished some kind of actual exercise versus merely pushing a sticky-wheeled chair a few meters forward. "SO I’M JUST GOING TO CHILL HERE WITH RACIST-GRANDPA WHILE I TAKE A LOOK."
"NOT SURE IF YOU GUYS HAVE A BETTER PLAN THAN UNMASKING EACH ONE OF THESE GUYS LIKE A CARTOON VILLAIN." She points a finger toward the old-school terminal. "BUT MAYBE THE TANDY HAS AN UPDATED DIRECTORY? ASSUMING IT’S NOT THE SAME DREK WE’VE ALREADY SEEN." She braces herself slightly against the chair as she crouches down in an increasingly familiar gesture. "I CAN CHECK IT WHEN I’M BACK UP, BUT THAT TECH IS ANCIENT ENOUGH THAT EVEN REIYA COULD WORK IT."
(( Dive in to identify the silent icons? Since we're out of initiative and in matrix speed, she'd probably just hit them all. ))
Loadout
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
The stifling, post gunfight silence settles over D block like a rubber sheet. Cordite and ozone mingle with the acerbic scent of steel. Ribbons of smoke undulate as they are filtered out of the narrow vents beneath the roof. What little noise follows comes in the form of muffled sounds from confused detainees.
Closer inspection of the cages reveal that they are covered in a matrix of strange, iridescent wires. Layered atop the steel bars, this outer layer almost resembles a crystalline fishing net.
Mouse sweeps for icons once again, finding that the immediate area is vacant. The only functioning computer in the block, it would seem, is the antiquated terminal sequestered in the rear of the structure.
The carcass of the crab drone smolders, occasionally belching a shower of sparks.
Closer inspection of the cages reveal that they are covered in a matrix of strange, iridescent wires. Layered atop the steel bars, this outer layer almost resembles a crystalline fishing net.
Mouse sweeps for icons once again, finding that the immediate area is vacant. The only functioning computer in the block, it would seem, is the antiquated terminal sequestered in the rear of the structure.
The carcass of the crab drone smolders, occasionally belching a shower of sparks.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
…the moment is little more than a blink, not even long enough for her muscles to properly relax into the familiar hotsim slouch. Instead, it's replaced by an almost sheepish look of surprise. "CORRECTION: THERE WERE ICONS. PETUNIA 2 MUST'VE BEEN PACKING SOME SERIOUS HEAT." She says the latter with a wince, shooting Axel an apologetic look in a rare moment of empathy.
She gives her head a hard shake, instead straightening herself out in order to make her way toward the console. "GUESS THAT SIMPLIFIES THINGS. THIS PART SHOULD BE EASY. BASIC, EVEN." The kind of weak grin that accompanies this is the sort clearly intended to assure its audience that everything is, in fact, fine. It's also never particularly convincing.
She gives her head a hard shake, instead straightening herself out in order to make her way toward the console. "GUESS THAT SIMPLIFIES THINGS. THIS PART SHOULD BE EASY. BASIC, EVEN." The kind of weak grin that accompanies this is the sort clearly intended to assure its audience that everything is, in fact, fine. It's also never particularly convincing.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mouse trots over to the terminal, casting anxious sideways glances at the hooded detainees. Try as she might, she can't disassociate the image of the prisoners with that of gimp suits. A sardonic giggle get stuck in her throat, which has been rendered dry by the stress of combat.
There's something both oddly comforting and equally infuriating about the novelty of the physical terminal. The vintage technology appeals to a sense of pre-awakening nostalgia, but the fact that a military detention facility is using such antiquated equipment strikes a nerve deep down.
Her fingers dance across the screen and a carousel of grim faces spins on the display. She stops when a photo of a severe-looking Amerind man fills the frame. There isn't much information in the dossier window-- not even a name, just a blood type and a warning. Apparently Achak gave the guards a hard time. Good for him.
The final entry in the dossier is: Cell #11. Mouse tilts her head, looking past the terminal to the nearest cage. Sure enough, a large set of numerals are laser-engraved on the top edge of every cage.
There's something both oddly comforting and equally infuriating about the novelty of the physical terminal. The vintage technology appeals to a sense of pre-awakening nostalgia, but the fact that a military detention facility is using such antiquated equipment strikes a nerve deep down.
Her fingers dance across the screen and a carousel of grim faces spins on the display. She stops when a photo of a severe-looking Amerind man fills the frame. There isn't much information in the dossier window-- not even a name, just a blood type and a warning. Apparently Achak gave the guards a hard time. Good for him.
The final entry in the dossier is: Cell #11. Mouse tilts her head, looking past the terminal to the nearest cage. Sure enough, a large set of numerals are laser-engraved on the top edge of every cage.
-
Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Axel crouches in front of the fallen crab drone, Alta dangling loosely from his hand between his knees. He can feel the bullet holes and torn carapace keenly, having already spent much of the short fight imagining inhabiting the drone as a remote body. Like with their biological kills, the moment passes.
"Hey Mouse," he calls over his shoulder, "this thing was five host icons?" His brow furrows, and he begins to pick through the wreckage, instincts conspiring to distract him from the real task at hand. "What the hell are you?" He murmurs to himself.
"Hey Mouse," he calls over his shoulder, "this thing was five host icons?" His brow furrows, and he begins to pick through the wreckage, instincts conspiring to distract him from the real task at hand. "What the hell are you?" He murmurs to himself.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Dice
With the help of Thoryne, Axel lifts the shell armor up high enough to kick a crate underneath. He flattens himself and peers up into the now exposed underside with a penlight. He frowns at the bizarre design. The small halo of light traces the hexagonal structure that makes up the main exoskeleton of the crab, again marveling at the redundancy. The penlight stops abruptly as the beam encounters a pod-like protrusion near the center. That's when it hits Axel, like plunging into ice water: This isn't just one big drone.
It's just the mothership.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
<< Today's lucky number is 11. First one to open that door gets a prize. >>
The readout from the console warrants little more excitement, that new piece of information just one among the swarm competing for her attention. Her answer to Axel is similarly offhanded, as she paces down the row of nonconsensually bound inmates, one finger raised toward the faded numerals as she manually counts them down. "SIX, TECHNICALLY." Her attention drifts briefly toward the boosted drone, and back toward the cells, too lost in her own thoughts to pick up on Axel’s impending revelation.
"THEN AGAIN, EVERYTHING ABOUT THE INFRASTRUCTURE HERE IS COMPLETELY FRAGGED." Her footsteps stop, the words starting to spill out again, as a familiar tension once again wraps its way through her chest.
She levels her gaze toward the rigger, as though searching the goggles for some common understanding. "THINK ABOUT IT: THESE TERMINALS ARE ANTIQUES: UNSHIELDED ELECTRONICS. IN SAN FRANCISCO." Her words dance around intended meanings, as though they’re the electrified third rail powering her thoughts. There’s an almost plaintive nature to her tone, as she tries to coax her only fellow “techie” into reading between these lines."SURE, BUREAUCRACIES SKIMP ON OVERHEAD ALL THE TIME, BUT THESE SHOULD'VE BEEN COOKED 5 YEARS AGO, WHEN... Y'KNOW."
The readout from the console warrants little more excitement, that new piece of information just one among the swarm competing for her attention. Her answer to Axel is similarly offhanded, as she paces down the row of nonconsensually bound inmates, one finger raised toward the faded numerals as she manually counts them down. "SIX, TECHNICALLY." Her attention drifts briefly toward the boosted drone, and back toward the cells, too lost in her own thoughts to pick up on Axel’s impending revelation.
"THEN AGAIN, EVERYTHING ABOUT THE INFRASTRUCTURE HERE IS COMPLETELY FRAGGED." Her footsteps stop, the words starting to spill out again, as a familiar tension once again wraps its way through her chest.
She levels her gaze toward the rigger, as though searching the goggles for some common understanding. "THINK ABOUT IT: THESE TERMINALS ARE ANTIQUES: UNSHIELDED ELECTRONICS. IN SAN FRANCISCO." Her words dance around intended meanings, as though they’re the electrified third rail powering her thoughts. There’s an almost plaintive nature to her tone, as she tries to coax her only fellow “techie” into reading between these lines."SURE, BUREAUCRACIES SKIMP ON OVERHEAD ALL THE TIME, BUT THESE SHOULD'VE BEEN COOKED 5 YEARS AGO, WHEN... Y'KNOW."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
*Twang* A broken piece of metal carapace flies into the air, quickly followed by the form of Yung kipping up to his feet just before it lands back on the floor of Cell Block D with a loud bang. He surveys the room, momentarily flinching in alarm at the sight of the propped up drone. Realizing the previous threat is inert he relaxes for a moment, brushing a bit of dust and casting an offended look at a piece of loose wire stuck in his armored jacket.
"Close one, eh?" He says to no one in particular. "Bet that slitch weighs a ton."
He locates Mouse next to the terminal at the far end of the room, his eyes widening as he realizes she is not accompanied by the Doc. His mouth begins to open as he quickly scans the room, before finally noticing part of the wheelchair poking out from behind one of the cages. He turns back to Mouse, lips reforming into a thin line.
As he makes his way toward his partially obscured ward he asks rather nonchalantly, "So what happened five years ago?"
"Close one, eh?" He says to no one in particular. "Bet that slitch weighs a ton."
He locates Mouse next to the terminal at the far end of the room, his eyes widening as he realizes she is not accompanied by the Doc. His mouth begins to open as he quickly scans the room, before finally noticing part of the wheelchair poking out from behind one of the cages. He turns back to Mouse, lips reforming into a thin line.
As he makes his way toward his partially obscured ward he asks rather nonchalantly, "So what happened five years ago?"
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
"Bet that slitch weighs a ton."
There it is, presented on a silver platter: the absolute perfect set up for a joke about Yung’s mom.
And yet, Mouse doesn’t even take it. She can’t. She’s too busy staring a hole through Yung’s skull, mouth agape in disbelief.
Perhaps if she had an ounce of self awareness, she might take this as a healthy reminder that not everyone’s consciousness is as fixated on the past as her own. From her reaction though, the resident himbo may as well have admitted to being raised in some bioculture lab, or that he subsists on a diet of white glue, or that he doesn’t actually know how to count to eleven. If anything, either of the aforementioned confessions would probably serve as a welcome explanation for a lot of things.
She laces her fingers together, eyes closed, and inhales deeply as she attempts to find the right words to explain the situation at hand. "OBVIOUSLY, FIVE YEARS AGO, YOU WERE DROPPED ON YOUR FRAGGING HEAD."
Nope. That wasn’t it. She tries again.
"MORE PERTINENT TO THE TOPIC AT HAND, FIVE YEARS AGO, EVERY ACTIVE PIECE OF ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT IN THE SAN FRANCISCO AREA WAS REDUCED TO GLORIFIED SCRAP." Once more, she finds herself choosing her words carefully, trying to channel her typical, sardonic tones and an air of feigned ambivalence. In practice, the sensation of forced detachment is alien and uncomfortable, as though she were reading from a script. Thankfully, Mouse’s synthetic tones don’t make much distinction between the two.
She gestures toward the archaic terminal in the back. "NOW MAYBE, BY SOME IMPROBABLE STROKE OF LUCK, ALL THESE OLD BEAUTIES JUST HAPPENED TO SURVIVE." She’s gritting her teeth hard now, trying to summon the entirety of her well-honed lying skills to bite back the trembling in her lower lip. "IF NOT, THAT WOULD IMPLY THAT THE SAITO REGIME HAULED IN ALL THESE OBSOLETE MACHINES AND HOOKED THEM UP RECENTLY."
"...YOU REZ?" Suddenly eager to get back to the task at hand, the decker peers back toward Yung from the corner of her eye, either in feigned judgment, or her sheer unwillingness to meet his gaze dead on. She rolls her weight onto her toes, muscles tense with a newfound surge of adrenaline." 'CAUSE IF SO, WE REALLY OUGHT TO BE SLOTTING OFF ABOUT NOW."
There it is, presented on a silver platter: the absolute perfect set up for a joke about Yung’s mom.
And yet, Mouse doesn’t even take it. She can’t. She’s too busy staring a hole through Yung’s skull, mouth agape in disbelief.
Perhaps if she had an ounce of self awareness, she might take this as a healthy reminder that not everyone’s consciousness is as fixated on the past as her own. From her reaction though, the resident himbo may as well have admitted to being raised in some bioculture lab, or that he subsists on a diet of white glue, or that he doesn’t actually know how to count to eleven. If anything, either of the aforementioned confessions would probably serve as a welcome explanation for a lot of things.
She laces her fingers together, eyes closed, and inhales deeply as she attempts to find the right words to explain the situation at hand. "OBVIOUSLY, FIVE YEARS AGO, YOU WERE DROPPED ON YOUR FRAGGING HEAD."
Nope. That wasn’t it. She tries again.
"MORE PERTINENT TO THE TOPIC AT HAND, FIVE YEARS AGO, EVERY ACTIVE PIECE OF ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT IN THE SAN FRANCISCO AREA WAS REDUCED TO GLORIFIED SCRAP." Once more, she finds herself choosing her words carefully, trying to channel her typical, sardonic tones and an air of feigned ambivalence. In practice, the sensation of forced detachment is alien and uncomfortable, as though she were reading from a script. Thankfully, Mouse’s synthetic tones don’t make much distinction between the two.
She gestures toward the archaic terminal in the back. "NOW MAYBE, BY SOME IMPROBABLE STROKE OF LUCK, ALL THESE OLD BEAUTIES JUST HAPPENED TO SURVIVE." She’s gritting her teeth hard now, trying to summon the entirety of her well-honed lying skills to bite back the trembling in her lower lip. "IF NOT, THAT WOULD IMPLY THAT THE SAITO REGIME HAULED IN ALL THESE OBSOLETE MACHINES AND HOOKED THEM UP RECENTLY."
"...YOU REZ?" Suddenly eager to get back to the task at hand, the decker peers back toward Yung from the corner of her eye, either in feigned judgment, or her sheer unwillingness to meet his gaze dead on. She rolls her weight onto her toes, muscles tense with a newfound surge of adrenaline." 'CAUSE IF SO, WE REALLY OUGHT TO BE SLOTTING OFF ABOUT NOW."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
As Mouse moves closer to the cage marked eleven, she spies the occupant. Unlike the other detainees, who are locked in variations of the fetal position, this one is arranged in the lotus position. It's a curious sight, to be sure: a man-shaped figure in an orange vinyl jump-suit, his arms restrained by straight jacket sleeves and a hood folded over and buttoned at the back, yet sitting cross-legged.
A wave of anxiety washes over Mouse, prompted by concern that their objective may in fact be dead. But the tension recedes as she visually confirms the ever-so-faint rise and fall of his chest. Mouse finds herself standing at the cage, standing through the strange lattice. She's surprised that she's surprised, having figured any more peculiarities would be par for the course. If Achak is aware of her presence, he certainly hasn't acknowledged it.
A wave of anxiety washes over Mouse, prompted by concern that their objective may in fact be dead. But the tension recedes as she visually confirms the ever-so-faint rise and fall of his chest. Mouse finds herself standing at the cage, standing through the strange lattice. She's surprised that she's surprised, having figured any more peculiarities would be par for the course. If Achak is aware of her presence, he certainly hasn't acknowledged it.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Luis follows behind Yung, holding the borrowed pistol ready. His face is grim as he surveys the cages.
"Ay carajo... poor bastards. I thought I had it bad."
He flinches as the crab drone belches another bevy of sparks. "Not to sound ungrateful, but what are we doing here?"
"Ay carajo... poor bastards. I thought I had it bad."
He flinches as the crab drone belches another bevy of sparks. "Not to sound ungrateful, but what are we doing here?"
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Yung scratches his head as he listens to the tirade from Mouse, whether his mannerisms are legitimate or not remains unclear. As she continues he begins nodding along; his lips curl downward and his chin becomes dominated by a cluster of smug dimples.
"Not bad." He says flatly.
His eyes dart from teammate to teammate, looking for a lifeline to save him from this conversation. He’s unsure how to proceed given the anxiety laden subtext effused by the decker.
What did Mick say, is there ever a pile of drek you don’t immediately stick your face in?
"Frag, I mean, yeah the big whole crash thing. That was five years ago already?" He continues, as he gingerly steps across a few pieces of metallic crustacean debris.
"Oye, Luis, amigo, we’ve all seen some drek we can’t unsee today. Unfortunately it wasn’t just para ti amor. We got one more egg to crack then back to Tex, heuvos rancheros, yeah?" He says, smiling at his own dumb joke as he gestures with a flick of his head toward the cage marked 11.
"Listen mija, do what I say and not what I do, eh?" He winces at the sound of his own words. "Maybe the best way through this, at least for the two of us, don’t overthink it. Makes sense to me Herr Saitler is all about 'projecting strength'," he emphasizes with air quotes. "Meanwhile his boots on the ground have to make due with found resources."
"Not bad." He says flatly.
His eyes dart from teammate to teammate, looking for a lifeline to save him from this conversation. He’s unsure how to proceed given the anxiety laden subtext effused by the decker.
What did Mick say, is there ever a pile of drek you don’t immediately stick your face in?
"Frag, I mean, yeah the big whole crash thing. That was five years ago already?" He continues, as he gingerly steps across a few pieces of metallic crustacean debris.
"Oye, Luis, amigo, we’ve all seen some drek we can’t unsee today. Unfortunately it wasn’t just para ti amor. We got one more egg to crack then back to Tex, heuvos rancheros, yeah?" He says, smiling at his own dumb joke as he gestures with a flick of his head toward the cage marked 11.
"Listen mija, do what I say and not what I do, eh?" He winces at the sound of his own words. "Maybe the best way through this, at least for the two of us, don’t overthink it. Makes sense to me Herr Saitler is all about 'projecting strength'," he emphasizes with air quotes. "Meanwhile his boots on the ground have to make due with found resources."
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Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Axel doesn't breathe as he inches his way as silently as possible from under the fallen drone. Standing up, he backs away slowly, pistol shaking at the broken machine.
"Hey guys?" He asks in a conversational tone struck through with anxiety, as if he were letting someone know that the person they're talking about is standing right behind them. "So you know when you smash a momma spider, and all the little baby spiders come swarming out?" He braves a glance away from the drone and toward the team, and makes a THIS gesture toward the drone with his arms.
"Hey guys?" He asks in a conversational tone struck through with anxiety, as if he were letting someone know that the person they're talking about is standing right behind them. "So you know when you smash a momma spider, and all the little baby spiders come swarming out?" He braves a glance away from the drone and toward the team, and makes a THIS gesture toward the drone with his arms.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Like witnessing an incoming tidal wave from shore, Mouse knows the hit is coming, and all she can do now is steel herself for impact. In this case, she pointedly turns from Yung, instead busying herself with the practicalities of Achaak’s cell, scanning the odd human-faraday-cage for its entrance, and more importantly, its lock. It makes for fewer witnesses, or at least she imagines, to the visceral reflex when Yung finally drops the C-word (and not the pleasant, familiar one). There’s the smallest wince as she can feel her chest tighten in time with the single syllable, her cold, prickling hands squeezing themselves into the most fleeting of fists.
The moment subsides as quickly as it started, though still makes a deliberate effort not to address Yung’s rational (for him) alternatives. It’s a nice thought that perhaps this is just a failure of bureaucracy and budgeting, though she can think of more plausible explanations that also account for the carnage done to the higher end networks down below. The problem is that to address would, out of necessity, drag the conversation out further. Instead, she just seizes on a completely transparent topic change, as she corrects through her gritted teeth, "NOT YOUR MIJA, DŌTEI."
It is under this, and only this circumstance, that Mouse finds herself welcoming Axel’s depiction of a dead drone bursting with a swarm of baby spiders. "WAIT- THAT THING WAS PREGGERS?" Far from Axel’s visceral reaction, the little decker cranes her head back with an immediate, and likely reckless curiosity. "THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT…" She can feel her breath returning now, more natural patterns taking over. "EVERYONE KNOWS THAT WHEN TWO DRONES LOVE EACH OTHER VERY MUCH, THEY DO A SPECIAL INTERFACE. THEN A QUADCOPTER DELIVERS THEIR HYBRID BUNDLE OF JOY."
She forces her attention back to the cage, clearly not sensing the same urgency as the rigger. "BESIDES, ALL THE OTHER ICONS CUT OUT WITH BIG MAMA. WOULDN’T THAT IMPLY A SHARED SYSTEM?"
(( Do the doors/locks here look like the old school ones in the other cell blocks, or does D block warrant something more sophisticated? Mick could probably check too, since breaking and entering is more their wheelhouse. ))
The moment subsides as quickly as it started, though still makes a deliberate effort not to address Yung’s rational (for him) alternatives. It’s a nice thought that perhaps this is just a failure of bureaucracy and budgeting, though she can think of more plausible explanations that also account for the carnage done to the higher end networks down below. The problem is that to address would, out of necessity, drag the conversation out further. Instead, she just seizes on a completely transparent topic change, as she corrects through her gritted teeth, "NOT YOUR MIJA, DŌTEI."
It is under this, and only this circumstance, that Mouse finds herself welcoming Axel’s depiction of a dead drone bursting with a swarm of baby spiders. "WAIT- THAT THING WAS PREGGERS?" Far from Axel’s visceral reaction, the little decker cranes her head back with an immediate, and likely reckless curiosity. "THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT…" She can feel her breath returning now, more natural patterns taking over. "EVERYONE KNOWS THAT WHEN TWO DRONES LOVE EACH OTHER VERY MUCH, THEY DO A SPECIAL INTERFACE. THEN A QUADCOPTER DELIVERS THEIR HYBRID BUNDLE OF JOY."
She forces her attention back to the cage, clearly not sensing the same urgency as the rigger. "BESIDES, ALL THE OTHER ICONS CUT OUT WITH BIG MAMA. WOULDN’T THAT IMPLY A SHARED SYSTEM?"
(( Do the doors/locks here look like the old school ones in the other cell blocks, or does D block warrant something more sophisticated? Mick could probably check too, since breaking and entering is more their wheelhouse. ))
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Dice
Luis takes an involuntary step towards the door. "I hate spiders," he says. "And crabs. Basically, frag all of this."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
In the relative silence post-combat, Mick begins to come to an unnerving revelation. The world has become silent; and it's not a comforting, tranquil silence. The presence-- for lack of a better word-- that has shared Mick's mind for so long is suddenly absence. They feel a sensation of overwhelming nakedness and vulnerability.
The adept flexes their hands, curling them into fists but the usually deadly implements feel impotent. It feels as though they've become a child again. Mick's own ego is now alone in a large, empty space.
Unaware of Mick's plight, Yung is similarly afflicted, though perhaps not to the same degree. Feelings of aimlessness begin to rise, constricting his chest and producing a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. While he feels no hostility towards his companions, his bond with them seems suddenly tenuous. A smattering of paranoid thoughts tickle at the back of his mind, like a mental mirage.
Even the willful Reiya begins to succumb to despondency. Her desire to forge ahead feels diluted. The urgency of their missions seems to be dissolving. She shakes her head, attempting to banish these thoughts. One thought remains clear, however: this place is not good for them.
The adept flexes their hands, curling them into fists but the usually deadly implements feel impotent. It feels as though they've become a child again. Mick's own ego is now alone in a large, empty space.
Unaware of Mick's plight, Yung is similarly afflicted, though perhaps not to the same degree. Feelings of aimlessness begin to rise, constricting his chest and producing a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. While he feels no hostility towards his companions, his bond with them seems suddenly tenuous. A smattering of paranoid thoughts tickle at the back of his mind, like a mental mirage.
Even the willful Reiya begins to succumb to despondency. Her desire to forge ahead feels diluted. The urgency of their missions seems to be dissolving. She shakes her head, attempting to banish these thoughts. One thought remains clear, however: this place is not good for them.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
The frag am I doing here?
Yung sets the wheelchair hand brake then moves to the side of the chair, squats down and rests his back against one of the wheels. His hands dangle off the front of his knees as he bows his head below his shoulders. Breathing takes concerted effort to combat the tight feeling in his chest. Images of the past twenty minutes of mayhem flash through his mind.
His head snaps up, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket as he casts furtive glances around the room at his teammates. Everyone in the room has a purpose for being here.
What’s mine?
He tries to play off the uneasy sensation, rolling his neck with his eyes closed before standing back up.
Soon as this is over I’m gone, sure they’ll be fine with that. Assuming I make it.
He makes his way over to cage 11, trying his hardest to force the awkward thoughts out of his head. He takes out a combat knife as he approaches the cocoon of wires. "Should we give this a try?" He says, gesturing with the knife to the iridescent wires.
Yung sets the wheelchair hand brake then moves to the side of the chair, squats down and rests his back against one of the wheels. His hands dangle off the front of his knees as he bows his head below his shoulders. Breathing takes concerted effort to combat the tight feeling in his chest. Images of the past twenty minutes of mayhem flash through his mind.
His head snaps up, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket as he casts furtive glances around the room at his teammates. Everyone in the room has a purpose for being here.
What’s mine?
He tries to play off the uneasy sensation, rolling his neck with his eyes closed before standing back up.
Soon as this is over I’m gone, sure they’ll be fine with that. Assuming I make it.
He makes his way over to cage 11, trying his hardest to force the awkward thoughts out of his head. He takes out a combat knife as he approaches the cocoon of wires. "Should we give this a try?" He says, gesturing with the knife to the iridescent wires.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
"THAT, OR YOU COULD WHIP OUT THAT BEAUTIFUL TOOL YOU KEEP IN YOUR PANTS." Mouse, per usual, doesn’t bother reminding the team, or explaining for outsiders that she is, in fact, talking about his miniwelder. She points toward the strange protrusion. "WE JUST NEED TO OPEN UP THAT BOX ENOUGH TO FIT IN A FINGER OR TWO."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Despite his efforts, Yung can't avoid the smile that crawls it's way across his face. It takes everything in his power to suppress a audible laugh.
He sheathes the knife as he finishes approaching cage 11, then pulls his mini welder out of his satchel. He slides up next to mouse with a side shuffle, grasping the mini welder in both hands.
"You know," he says "I consider myself something of an expert when it comes to fitting fingers into little boxes. "
As he finishes the statement he swings the arc welder like a mock baseball bat, using his momentum to perform a subtle hip check into Mouse.
He sheathes the knife as he finishes approaching cage 11, then pulls his mini welder out of his satchel. He slides up next to mouse with a side shuffle, grasping the mini welder in both hands.
"You know," he says "I consider myself something of an expert when it comes to fitting fingers into little boxes. "
As he finishes the statement he swings the arc welder like a mock baseball bat, using his momentum to perform a subtle hip check into Mouse.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
The unexpected contact is enough to send the literal lightweight stumbling forward, a barely audible squeak escaping in surprise. She recovers quickly, now bearing her own wicked grin in spite of the grim surroundings. "YOUR NOSTRILS DON'T COUNT, OMAE."
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Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Axel holds up his toolkit and miniwelder in a shrug. "Not sure how any of this works. Can we just cut through this stuff, or will it set off, I dunno, like a magical nuke or something?"
Or ghosts...
Or ghosts...
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Yung flicks the igniter switch on the mini-welder and a thin tongue of blue flame sputters from the nozzle. He eases the tool towards the cage and directs his face away, although manages to avoid a grimace. Fortunately for Yung-- and the rest of the crew, the end result is anti-climactic.
As the heat of the mini-welder brushes against the outer matrix, the ribbon-like lattice blackens and warps before dissolving like old film. Yung continues to guide the flame in a rectangle, eliciting the occasional pop and wisp of smoke. The odor that follows resembles burnt bread, with just a hint of something caustic. Whatever the material is, it's quite fragile.
It's not long before the mini-welder has scored an outline over the locking mechanism. A simple swat with the back of Yung's hand clears the rest, which floats to the floor.
For the first time since the firefight, the hooded figure that is assumed to be Achak tilts his head, ever so slightly.
As the heat of the mini-welder brushes against the outer matrix, the ribbon-like lattice blackens and warps before dissolving like old film. Yung continues to guide the flame in a rectangle, eliciting the occasional pop and wisp of smoke. The odor that follows resembles burnt bread, with just a hint of something caustic. Whatever the material is, it's quite fragile.
It's not long before the mini-welder has scored an outline over the locking mechanism. A simple swat with the back of Yung's hand clears the rest, which floats to the floor.
For the first time since the firefight, the hooded figure that is assumed to be Achak tilts his head, ever so slightly.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Axel did have a good point, and though it clearly wasn't enough to dissuade Yung from frying a hole in the strange material, Mouse can't help but brace herself as the burnt remnants of the mesh drift toward the ground. The moment passes, and from what she can tell, she's still intact, a revelation that emboldens her to lean in for a closer look. "DUNNO IF WE JUST BROKE SOME KIND OF MAGICAL CIRCUIT, BUT WE HAVEN'T TURNED TO GOO YET. THAT'S A GOOD SIGN, NE?" She casts a glance back toward the team mage, not sure whether to expect an explanation, or just to add it to the stack of the site's idiosyncrasies.
Rather than waste more time, she steps back toward the exposed mechanism, reaching into her pocket for her autopicker, trying to get a closer look at the device. "SO, ANYONE WANNA MAKE INTRODUCTIONS?" She twists her head back to her teammates, as if to prompt someone more tactful than herself. "OTHERWISE, I CAN GET A DRUMROLL GOING FOR WHEN WE YOINK THE HOOD, BUT THAT MIGHT BE A LITTLE BIT ABRUPT."
Rather than waste more time, she steps back toward the exposed mechanism, reaching into her pocket for her autopicker, trying to get a closer look at the device. "SO, ANYONE WANNA MAKE INTRODUCTIONS?" She twists her head back to her teammates, as if to prompt someone more tactful than herself. "OTHERWISE, I CAN GET A DRUMROLL GOING FOR WHEN WE YOINK THE HOOD, BUT THAT MIGHT BE A LITTLE BIT ABRUPT."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Dice
Before Mouse can finish humming her J-pop song, the bolt within the lock slams open. She notices a slight tensing of the prisoner's leg muscles, but they stay rooted in the same meditative position. Mouse tugs on the bars and the cage door swings open.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mick's head would be swimming if it didn't feel so empty. It's as if the cell block has drained of all people and things, blasting from a miserable pre-crypt for the recently damned to a vast expanse, cold and hollow and indifferent. The emptiness doesn't even swallow or envelope the adept. The ork feels so hopelessly alone that their emptiness is no longer a second party to their desolation.
Even Mick's loneliness has abandoned them.
The ork should speak up. They should say something or do something or try to puzzle their way out of it, but the set of the feeling is too heavy. So typically a hyperactive knot of forward momentum, Mick grinds to a crawl, a finely-tuned machine bogging down in a syrupy molasses swamp.
"What's the fucking point," the ork asks aloud, the rhetorical challenge not a question, but a bald statement. "We're all fucked. They asked us to sign up for a suicide mission and, like the bunch of smiling shitheads we are, we insisted on signing in blood." Their eyes are hopeless as they scan the team. The adept wobbles on their feet slightly, reaching out with an arm and catching themself against one of the prisoner cages. Their head drops as Mick's strong shoulders loll toward the ground, exaggerated breaths coming in heaving waves.
Mick is a child again, alone in a bathroom exploded with blood, but somehow more alone than they ever were. Their parents' bodies lie lifeless, the air hot and humid and still. The ravening beast stalking the murky waters of the ork's soul is gone. There is no past. There is no future. There is only barely a now, and that now is empty and bleeding to death.
Their voice, coming across the years and through the abyss, is as small as its ever sounded to the team. "We're alone." A pause, frail and wan. "...abandoned."
Even Mick's loneliness has abandoned them.
The ork should speak up. They should say something or do something or try to puzzle their way out of it, but the set of the feeling is too heavy. So typically a hyperactive knot of forward momentum, Mick grinds to a crawl, a finely-tuned machine bogging down in a syrupy molasses swamp.
"What's the fucking point," the ork asks aloud, the rhetorical challenge not a question, but a bald statement. "We're all fucked. They asked us to sign up for a suicide mission and, like the bunch of smiling shitheads we are, we insisted on signing in blood." Their eyes are hopeless as they scan the team. The adept wobbles on their feet slightly, reaching out with an arm and catching themself against one of the prisoner cages. Their head drops as Mick's strong shoulders loll toward the ground, exaggerated breaths coming in heaving waves.
Mick is a child again, alone in a bathroom exploded with blood, but somehow more alone than they ever were. Their parents' bodies lie lifeless, the air hot and humid and still. The ravening beast stalking the murky waters of the ork's soul is gone. There is no past. There is no future. There is only barely a now, and that now is empty and bleeding to death.
Their voice, coming across the years and through the abyss, is as small as its ever sounded to the team. "We're alone." A pause, frail and wan. "...abandoned."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Luis blinks and turns to Mouse. "Ajá, are they always like this?"
A muffled voice emanates from within the prisoner's hood. "Innaihtsi’iyi, friend. It is this place. You will feel yourself once you step foot outside."
A muffled voice emanates from within the prisoner's hood. "Innaihtsi’iyi, friend. It is this place. You will feel yourself once you step foot outside."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Reiya has been standing without moving, crossbow at her side, unable to move or think clearly. It’s a good thing not all of them are similarly afflicted, and that the crab-thing has been neutralized. She’s not even sure how.
Helplessness may be the feeling Reiya hates most, and it seeps into her here. It reminds her of when she watched her people, her loved ones, die before her in horrid ways, with no art to heal them. But even then, she had magic, rage and grief beside and within her, however ineffective. This emptiness is almost worse.
Mick’s words resonate within her: the feeling of abandonment is profound. Reiya feels small, weak, and stupid. She shakes her head again, and again. This place is anathema to all she is.
Her dread lifts ever so slightly at the sound of a new voice, speaking in another language at first, but words that convey a bit of peace, however small. His next words reflect her own sentiment. This place is bad. Let us leave.
Calling on every shred of willpower she has, Reiya moves. She walks a few steps until she’s standing in front of Mick. "Come," she says in a voice that doesn’t sound like her own. "We must leave this place. "
Saying the words helps her at least, though she doesn’t think they’ve gotten through to Mick quite yet. Maybe that’s just how badly her perception is off in this horrid space. But it’s enough to clear her own mind, enough to bring her closer to herself. She looks at Yung. "You too, Akela. We need to get the fuck out of this drekhole. Now."
Helplessness may be the feeling Reiya hates most, and it seeps into her here. It reminds her of when she watched her people, her loved ones, die before her in horrid ways, with no art to heal them. But even then, she had magic, rage and grief beside and within her, however ineffective. This emptiness is almost worse.
Mick’s words resonate within her: the feeling of abandonment is profound. Reiya feels small, weak, and stupid. She shakes her head again, and again. This place is anathema to all she is.
Her dread lifts ever so slightly at the sound of a new voice, speaking in another language at first, but words that convey a bit of peace, however small. His next words reflect her own sentiment. This place is bad. Let us leave.
Calling on every shred of willpower she has, Reiya moves. She walks a few steps until she’s standing in front of Mick. "Come," she says in a voice that doesn’t sound like her own. "We must leave this place. "
Saying the words helps her at least, though she doesn’t think they’ve gotten through to Mick quite yet. Maybe that’s just how badly her perception is off in this horrid space. But it’s enough to clear her own mind, enough to bring her closer to herself. She looks at Yung. "You too, Akela. We need to get the fuck out of this drekhole. Now."
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Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Axel's eyes dart between the magic users, and is hit with an increasingly familiar sense of being out of his element. The parallels between Mouse when she lost matrix signal, and the magic users in this place are not lost on him, nor is the feeling of not knowing what to do about any of it. He raises his eyes at Taipan and Thoryne.
"Agreed," he replies to Reiya's last statement. "Let's spring the 'goods', and get the hell off this island."
"Agreed," he replies to Reiya's last statement. "Let's spring the 'goods', and get the hell off this island."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mick's stare rises to meet the shaman. 'This place...' Mick paws at the thought like a child batting at a plume of smoke, pushing it meaninglessly around the empty place in their mind. The thought is no clearer as the adept feels their body start to move, languid and heavy. It feels like being poisoned from the very core of their being, a rot that metastasizes and leeches outward from center mass, rendering cold and numb each new extent of the ork's body as it spreads. 'Outside,' they think, confused and all but completely abstracted. 'Must get the frag outside.' Mick manages a weary nod to Reiya's suggestion, steadies themself momentarily on the shaman's shoulder, and shambles to the blast door. Their arms swing like heavy pendulums, their feet making sharp 'SSshhk' noises as they slide laboriously across the century-old, pitted concrete floor.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Although moments of psychological discomfort continue to dance fleetingly in his headspace, Mouse’s cheeky interaction serves to distract Yung from the anxiety laden cloud hanging over Cell Block D. He offers a thumbs up and a wink in response to Reiya’s direction, "Estoy bien." He says, mustering his usual façade.
Something about the lack of connection is oddly familiar. Projecting comfort by way of a lying, just another con, and the best way to pull off a con is to believe it’s the truth.
"Buddy, please forgive the others for their lack of decorum yeah? We’re looking for a dude goes by the name Achak and Aja here seems to think that’s you. I haven’t known her to be wrong yet, so might be your lucky day, ne? Someone in Seattle is missing you." Yung says, leaning a forearm against the cage.
"Anyway, we’re in a bit of a hurry, if you need some help with that hood or anything..." He clicks his tongue, "Aja here may be petite but she loves to lend a hand anyway possible."
Something about the lack of connection is oddly familiar. Projecting comfort by way of a lying, just another con, and the best way to pull off a con is to believe it’s the truth.
"Buddy, please forgive the others for their lack of decorum yeah? We’re looking for a dude goes by the name Achak and Aja here seems to think that’s you. I haven’t known her to be wrong yet, so might be your lucky day, ne? Someone in Seattle is missing you." Yung says, leaning a forearm against the cage.
"Anyway, we’re in a bit of a hurry, if you need some help with that hood or anything..." He clicks his tongue, "Aja here may be petite but she loves to lend a hand anyway possible."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Even after the explanation, Reiya's outbound directions, the unease of the awakened lingers in the air. Had she only the (assumed) Aachak's explanation to judge by, Mouse might very well have been dismissive of any perceived similarities. So the blessed among them suddenly have to endure a few fleeting moments as mundane? That the nadir of their journey should mirror the spiritual emptiness inherent in every moment of the decker’s waking life? Oh, kawai-sou..
But like catching snippets of a familiar language in a foreign land, something about Mick's choice of words, or maybe their hollow tone, is enough to pique Mouse’s attention from the dregs of her own self pity. The ork's broken declaration, the familiar slouch toward self destruction, ring in echoing harmonics of the decker’s own patterns.
The 'What' and the 'Why' of Mick's current state are, of course, utterly unknowable to Mouse. Hell, her psychological profile of the ork consists of little more than question marks and kaomoji shrugs. But this feeling, of trauma and grief that refuses to stay buried, comes from somewhere far more primordial, preverbal. These feelings linger in the chest, rolling upward in nauseous waves, threatening to erupt one way or another.
What's the fucking point?'
We're alone.
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
The intrusive sense memory interjects here, cued into consciousness by familiar depressive beats- deja-zetsubou.
…thank fuck for Yung, and his breezy return to the business at hand. Mouse is still here. Before her is the open door, the hooded target, waiting.
She swallows. "CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, WE’RE NOT JUST A BUNCH OF SMILING SHITHEADS. WE DON’T SMILE NEARLY ENOUGH FOR THAT." She reaches a hand outward, but pauses in a brief moment of introspection. "MORE LIKE… LOVABLE FUCKUPS?"
She stands on her tiptoes, and grabs a fistful of the strange hood’s fabric. "GENTLEMEN, BEHOLD!"
But like catching snippets of a familiar language in a foreign land, something about Mick's choice of words, or maybe their hollow tone, is enough to pique Mouse’s attention from the dregs of her own self pity. The ork's broken declaration, the familiar slouch toward self destruction, ring in echoing harmonics of the decker’s own patterns.
The 'What' and the 'Why' of Mick's current state are, of course, utterly unknowable to Mouse. Hell, her psychological profile of the ork consists of little more than question marks and kaomoji shrugs. But this feeling, of trauma and grief that refuses to stay buried, comes from somewhere far more primordial, preverbal. These feelings linger in the chest, rolling upward in nauseous waves, threatening to erupt one way or another.
What's the fucking point?'
We're alone.
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
The intrusive sense memory interjects here, cued into consciousness by familiar depressive beats- deja-zetsubou.
𝄞 Don’t - they - know ?
She swallows. "CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, WE’RE NOT JUST A BUNCH OF SMILING SHITHEADS. WE DON’T SMILE NEARLY ENOUGH FOR THAT." She reaches a hand outward, but pauses in a brief moment of introspection. "MORE LIKE… LOVABLE FUCKUPS?"
She stands on her tiptoes, and grabs a fistful of the strange hood’s fabric. "GENTLEMEN, BEHOLD!"
Last edited by Molly on Wed Jul 06, 2022 11:34 am, edited 1 time in total.