- Soulex
- Apr 1, 2009
-
Cacati in mano e pigliati a schiaffi!
|
Wall of SS13 Stories.
I couldn't find my favorite one about the demon tub. But these should do for now, would have had more but the search query poo poo the bed and I am too tired to continue.
Robin Williams says, "hey"
Reginald B Farting says, "I thought you were dead."
Robin Williams asks, "wanna see something funny?"
Reginald B Farting says, "Yes."
Robin Williams says, "yeah, I was just getting to that"
Reginald B Farting screams!
Reginald B Farting says, "NO"
Robin Williams climbs up on the steel chair!
Reginald B Farting says, "DON'T"
Robin Williams wraps the cable around his neck and tightens it.
Reginald B Farting says, "OH GOD"
Reginald B Farting says, "NO"
Reginald B Farting screams!
Robin Williams gasps.
Robin Williams gasps.
Robin Williams screams!
Reginald B Farting says, "NOOOOOOOOOO"
Robin Williams seizes up and falls limp, his eyes dead and lifeless...
Reginald B Farting says, "WHAT THE gently caress MAN"
Reginald B Farting says, "WHAT THE gently caress"
PopeCrunch posted:
I couldn't figure out how you goatfuckers STILL managed to be terrorists with potato chips and water. YOU FOUND A WAY. I had two coders on IRC combing through reactions trying to figure out exactly how you motherless fucks were managing to make potato chips and water into explosives, and they had no loving idea. It shouldn't have been possible. It couldn't have been possible. I fear for the safety of the world if the people who managed to find a way to do murders with mother loving potato chips and goddamned water ever get recruited by a real world terrorist organization. The headlines the next day will read something like WE'RE ALL hosed: SOME NERD KILLS 3/4 OF THE WORLD'S POPULATION WITH A USED BANDAID AND THE SQUEAKER FROM A DOG TOY. THIS SECURITY PHOTO SHOWS THE SUSPECT PURCHASING A STICK OF GUM. DOES HE WANT FRESH BREATH, OR IS HE FINISHING THE JOB? OUR ONLY CONSOLATION IS THAT WE WILL PROBABLY NEVER SEE IT COMING. FILM AT 11 IF WE'RE LUCKY. OR UNLUCKY. gently caress IT. WHATEVER. -(AP)
edit to add: I would like to thank the Maker's Mark Distillery for providing me with the liquid courage to have made it through that terrible time
re: SS13, Catbeasts
Angry Diplomat posted:
The Doom Peel
If a banana peel is left on the floor, anyone who steps on it will slip and fall down. There used to be a Clown job, which started with a banana and was mostly responsible for playing pranks, telling jokes, raising spirits, and getting brutally murdered by the psychotic crew. When my brother first started playing SS13, he chose Clown and spent the entire round slipping people with his banana peel, farting in their faces while they lay stunned, and then peeling out of there like a brightly coloured human rally car while furiously honking his bike horn. He did this so much and so competently that several people were actively trying to murder him, which of course led to more slipping, farting, and honking before he'd lie low in a locker somewhere until they gave up the search.
One particular victim seemed to have terrible luck, as he ran afoul of my brother over, and over, and over again through no apparent fault of his own. He must have spent a third of the round lying on the floor with fart in his face and a cheery HONK HONK HONK ringing in his ears. After pratfalling for the fourteenth or fifteenth time, he impotently screamed, "CLOOOOOOOOOOOOWN!" at his retreating assailant. This had no effect, aside from causing my brother to laugh so hard that it brought him to tears.
That victim was THE OVERWASP, one of the game's administrators.
Rather than get angry, THE OVERWASP saw the humour in my brother's clowny antics. He telepathically instructed him to stand next to his banana peel for a moment, then implanted the clown's consciousness into the peel itself, giving my brother the ability to move it around directly.
As it turns out, a player-controlled banana peel is nothing short of apocalyptic in the right hands. The station rapidly descended into anarchy as police chases became Keystone Kopps fiascoes, Janitors were left facedown in their own suds, and panicking assistants fled shrieking from the demonically-possessed banana peel before it sent them tumbling facefirst into vending machines. In a desperate bid to restore order, one of the heads of staff seized the unholy fruit rind in his hand and stuffed it in his pocket. Striding triumphantly to the airlock to space the offending item, he met his doom when it leaped out of his pocket and slipped him, causing him to careen into the open void and be lost forever.
The escape shuttle was called, and the crew fled in terror, abandoning the station to its new master: the Doom Peel.
Don't accept drinks from The Devil
I played a few rounds as a Bartender named The Devil, with a huge black beard and glowing red eyes. I would start the round by taking several pills of Kelotane (a drug that cures burn damage over time), drinking a bunch of welding fuel, returning to the bar, and setting myself on fire. This produced a large but short-lived cloud of flame around me, giving most of the bar an ominously scorched appearance, and it allowed me keep burning for an extremely long period of time.
Because of the Kelotane in my system, the fire wouldn't actually hurt me; I could just stand around, blazing like a loving bonfire, chatting amiably with people as they tried to decide whether to order drinks or run for a fire extinguisher. So, when a crewmember walked into the bar, he would discover a charred hellhole staffed by a flame-wreathed, red-eyed man named The Devil. A surprising number of people decided to order drinks anyway.
Now, I figure The Devil knows how to throw a loving party. He doesn't just chuck a case of beer on the counter and call it quits, right? So whenever someone ordered a drink, I would mix together some hard liquor (usually vodka and rum), spritz in some welding fuel, and use a syringe to transfer some of my own blood to the glass, creating an unholy devilblood cocktail. Occasionally I would poo and pee in the glass as well, adding Jenkem to the list of Terrible Things Nobody Should Drink that were in the concoction.
Despite the fact that I did all of this gross poo poo in plain sight, just about everybody would take the drat thing and drink it anyway. Contrary to common sense, drinking that horrible sludge didn't really have any major negative effects, aside from moderate drunkenness and perhaps a mild Jenkem addiction. What's significant is that the welding fuel would remain in the imbiber's system for a while - and, party animal that he was, The Devil didn't skimp on the welding fuel.
Most rounds, this all amounted to nothing more than an overeager assistant spraying me with an extinguisher, putting out my hellfire, and incurring the wrath of Satan. But on one fateful round, the Botanist left a shitload of weed in the bar for everyone to enjoy. Paper was found, joints were rolled, someone produced an igniter, and then it was time to spark up.
The bar turned into a loving inferno. Some of the crew stopped, dropped, and rolled like sensible people, while others tried to flee in a drunken fiery panic, which was hilarious to watch because the really drunk ones had scrambled controls and would stagger around in random directions while screaming "Ooooohhhh ggggoooodddd!!" Throughout all of this, The Devil stood at his bar, unharmed by the omnipresent cloud of fire, and laughed uproariously while mainlining vodka.
I don't think anybody died, but some people probably came close. Things just got funnier later on, as Engineering failed to do its job and the station's power went out of whack. Power surges caused lights to explode, and the drinkers who'd left before the fire got hit by the sparks, had the fuel still in their bodies ignite, and promptly immolated their surroundings while screaming in uncomprehending terror. It was Hell on Earth. It was also, to be honest, completely hysterical.
I don't do that anymore, partly because it's kind of a dick move, partly because it gets old fast, and partly because an admin got pretty annoyed with me (but he was cool enough to settle for my promise not to do it anymore). Even so, though, I'll be damned if it wasn't some of the funniest poo poo I'd ever seen.
Don't accept medical treatment from The Devil: diabolic possession for fun and profit
There used to be an SS13 job called the Head Surgeon, which entailed being in charge of Medbay, the Robotics lab, and the Genetics lab. Roboticists can remove brains from people and put them into robot bodies, creating cyborgs; for this reason, there are usually a couple of Assistants hanging out at the Robotics door, begging to be "borged" so they can be cool robot mans instead of lovely greysuits.
Unbeknownst to many, brains can also be put into different bodies. This really doesn't give you anything except a dead dude with some other dude's brain in his head. However, if you bring that body back to life in some way (either using the Genetics lab to clone it, or using a particular complicated chemical mix to resurrect it with a chance of making it gib instead), the player that controls the new clone is determined by the brain - so you've got Joe Schmoe running around in John Q. Public's body.
The Devil did not go to med school to save lives. He did not study and slave just so he could collect a fat paycheque. The Devil practices medicine because he loves to indulge his scientific curiosity (and because he likes the colour red).
My early forays into brain transplantation went rather well. After a few misfires (the Robotics lab was full of blood, gibs, discarded brains, and rotting bodies with empty skulls), I finally got the hang of it and went looking for a likely victim volunteer. As luck would have it, I found a dead Quartermaster lying around in Medbay, and the body was fresh! I dragged him back to my operating table and excitedly pulled out his brain. Then I plugged it into another relatively intact body I had lying around, slapped the corpse into the cloning tube, and... discovered that he couldn't be cloned because the player had logged out. gently caress!
My appointed lab assistant, a delightfully amoral Engineer with a suspiciously firm grasp of brain surgery, saw a silver lining. He laid out the plan, and before long it was The Devil's turn to lie on the operating table. A few snips later and a brand spanking new Quartermaster was stepping out of the cloning pod, naked as a jaybird and healthy as a horse.
A Quartermaster with The Devil's brain. A Quartermaster who was literally The Devil in disguise.
It took less than three minutes for me to completely embezzle the station's entire Cargo budget and funnel it straight into Robotics research. None of the other Quartermasters batted an eye when they saw their coworker walk in and start using the Cargo Bay computer. They sure did yell a lot when they saw that big fat 0 though. I just quietly continued my experiments while my Roboticist lackeys gleefully spent their vast fortune to research nicer cyborg upgrades. Science is its own reward~
Don't accept medical treatment from The Devil: in space, no one can hear you file a malpractice claim
In a later round, I was eager to continue my highly unethical (read: highly hilarious) work. I promptly shuffled off to Robotics, prepped my surgical tools, and walked to the door to look for vict- oh hey an Assistant! What's up, little guy? You want to be borged? Hmm, I do need someone to donate a brain for a little experiment I'm planning. No, I promise I won't throw your brain in the garbage; you will be alive at the end of this. Yes, I know you want to be a Security cyborg - trust me, you will have a totally new lease on life by the end of this! Step into my office...
Idiot brain in hand, I hurried off to Genetics and grabbed a monkey. Previous tests had proven that it was not possible to resurrect monkeys with human brains, which saddened me, but I had a different objective in mind this time around. I dragged the monkey over to the genetic engineering console, put it into the pod, and used my ~mad science~ knowhow to... improve it. Yes, a beautiful new human body for my eager test subject.
He was not very happy to be revived as a black woman with Justin Bieber hair and a randomized name.
After a lengthy tantrum and a minor physical altercation, I calmed my volunteer down by promising to fix the problem. If she would just step into the genetics pod, it would be quite simple for me to make a few little changes that would resolve her complaints. Mollified, the grumbling lass hopped into the pod, which I promptly locked before randomly rolling my face across the keyboard of the genetics computer, bombarding the subject with mutations willy-nilly for a short time. I unlocked the pod and proudly invited my volunteer to step out and survey the changes.
"gently caress" screamed the black woman, falling to the ground and spasming madly, "What the gently caress did you do to me? PISS."
"Interesting," said The Devil, consulting his medical scanner. "It would appear that you are suffering from epilepsy and Tourette's Syndrome."
"COCK!" asserted the woman. "I'm going to loving kill you!"
This drew a frown. "That is not very polite, madam. I was enjoying our professional relationship, but if you are going to behave in this way, I must ask you to leave. I will simply have to find another assistant."
And that is why an insane homeless epileptic uncontrollably cursing naked black woman spent the rest of the round trying to convince anyone who'd listen that The Devil had stolen her identity.
My god, it's full of butt, part 1: the Cluwne factory
One of the round types in SS13 is Wizard, in which a powerful wizard is tasked with completing several objectives, while the crew must attempt to kill him. Wizards get access to a huge variety of spells, but can only choose four of them from the list at the start of the round; these are the spells they are limited to for the whole round.
One such spell is Curse of the Cluwne (at least, I think that's what it's called). This spell is generally considered a choice for "advanced" wizard players, since it has an extremely long cooldown, only targets one opponent, and can only be used at melee range, making it quite risky to use. It's still a popular spell, though, as it is far and away the griefiest spell of all. The Curse instantly transforms its victim into a Cluwne: a morbidly obese, subhuman, epileptic, brain-damaged, amazingly annoying ur-clown named "the cluwne" and wearing utterly hideous neon green clown clothing that is cursed and therefore cannot be removed. Cluwnes are traditionally marked for death by their non-cursed former comrades, and even when they manage to escape being murdered by an angry mob, they are so loving terrible at everything that their very existence is torment and they commonly wind up begging for death since their incredible incompetence can actually make it difficult for them to successfully commit suicide.
I have played in quite a few Wizard rounds, but one still sticks out as my absolute favourite. The wizard went on a Cluwney rampage that was funny as hell on its own, but the actions of one enterprising Roboticist turned the round from "hilarious" to "oh jesus my sides I'm dying over here" in no time flat. This ambitious soul retrieved a murdered Cluwne and dragged it back to his lab; ordinarily this would be a reason for the Cluwne to rejoice, since a Cluwne brain can still function perfectly normally if transferred into a cyborg, granting the player a new lease on life.
The Roboticist did not borg the Cluwne. He had other plans. Butt plans.
The deceased sad-clown was delivered to Genetics, where the Roboticist and a Geneticist entered into collusion. Now two people were in on the butt plans.
I have no idea what madness they got up to in there, but I do know that the second Roboticist was put on Butt Duty, bringing the known number of butt plan conspirators up to at least three. It is also likely that a delivery man was involved so as to speed the process along, as Butt Duty was a full-time job. All those butts had to come from somewhere, however:
They were cloning Cluwnes.
My god, it's full of butt, part 2: the buttening
The mastermind behind it all sat contentedly at his operating table and worked with astounding assembly-line efficiency. Behind him was a locker with a seemingly limitless number of twitching, honking, weeping Cluwnes stuffed into it; he would grab a Cluwneclone, slap it onto the table, neatly slice off its butt, indifferently cut out its brain, hurl the dead body and retarded brain down the disposal chute while he set the butt to one side, and repeat. The man on Butt Duty would then grab the Cluwne butt and slap a robot arm onto it, creating a Buttbot, a butt on wheels that served no purpose except to be a butt and say the word "butt."
The efficiency and hard work of the Butt Conspiracy paid off, and before long Medbay was entirely crammed with Buttbots, to the point where the entire area was rendered non-functional and impassable due to the surging ocean of little wheeled cyberbutts happily beeping "butt" in a tinny chorus. But(t) crowding was not the issue - Buttbots do one thing aside from simply say "butt" now and again. When a Buttbot hears someone speak, it has a chance to repeat what was said, with "butt" substituted in place of random words.
This became an issue when the Captain strolled into Medbay and was aghast at its sorry state. "What the gently caress is going on here?" he shouted.
The Buttbots chirped up in a gleeful, deafening chorus. "What the butt is butt on here?" "Butt the gently caress butt going on butt?" "What butt butt is going butt here?" and so on and so forth, in a disorienting wave of auditory butt. This infuriated the Captain further, but his hollering and order-giving only further excited the Buttbots, making it totally impossible for anyone nearby to hear what was said or get any idea of what the gently caress was going on amidst the titanic cacophony of butt. The Captain flew into a rage and decided to destroy all of the Buttbots, but he forgot that they leave smears of poo when destroyed; it was not long before he slipped head-over-heels and wound up prone and stunned in a puddle of human excrement, cursing relentlessly while the legion of Buttbots around him babbled back page upon page upon page of buttified imitation.
Seeing this, some jokester took a radio, turned on its microphone so that it would publicly broadcast anything it picked up, and tossed it into the room.
Well, poo poo, now nobody could hear anything. Every radio on the station became a hellish noise cannon, blasting out an incomprehensible wall of recursive butt laced with garbled cursing and butt-riddled mockeries of the crew's anguished cries for silence. At some point a bunch of the Buttbots came within hearing distance of the Cluwneclone closet; this is significant because Cluwnes will randomly and uncontrollably burst into fits of screamed honking. There were dozens of Cluwnes in that thing, and their eerie wails of HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK soon became a HONK HONK butt HONK butt blared forth from uncountable Buttbot speakers, received by the radio and broadcast throughout the station, magnifying upon itself until it was quite literally impossible to divine the slightest scrap of understanding from the game's text box as it was choked by dozens of pages of recursive buttspam per second. The Captain was helpless to stop it. The Roboticists were churning out Buttbots faster than he could destroy them, leaving him effectively stranded in the middle of the deafening, butt-packed hell that had once been Medbay.
I don't even know what the gently caress happened to that wizard, and I don't care. He was not the true villain of that round. The Robutticists were.
Bonus Audio: https://soundcloud.com/stephanosrex/honk-honk-butt
This was kind of a dumb post and this thread has pretty much gone off the rails, but this particular sentence brought to mind a couple of funny counterexamples from the goon SS13 servers.
The floor is now explosions
A while back, an Arc Smelter was added to the game. This lets you combine materials to create new alloys with properties from both. You can also infuse chemicals into things. If your first thought was, "how many explosions did this cause," congratulations, you pretty much "get" SS13. Here is a picture of what happened when I created a weldfuel-infused shovel and accidentally hit some of my weldfuel-infused glass windows with it.
Whoops!
One of the minerals is called erebite. Erebite is highly volatile and explosive. People used to make themselves explosion-proof erebite-alloyed blast armour and then run around tweaking their own nipples to cause massive at-will explosions that devastated everything around them while hurting them very little or not at all. Yes, seriously. Weaponized nipple tweaking. That was a thing.
Nipplebombing was nothing compared to infinite self-sustaining bombing, though.
See, after discovering that a sufficiently resilient erebite alloy would not be destroyed by its own explosion, people started to get kind of carried away. This culminated in some jerk re-tiling the floors in the escape shuttle bay with sturdy erebite metal alloy. Eventually someone set it off - I think they just stepped on it or walked over it while smoking or something - and welp that round was over. The tiles all set one another off, and each one became an individual Big Bang of eternal recurrent explosions. Everything ground to a halt and the admins were forced to cut the round off and start a new one.
Erebite doesn't work in the arc smelter anymore. At least you can make bullets out of ants and meth to make up for it!!
IT'S ALIVE! It died. IT'S ALIVE! It died. IT'S ALIVE!
There are a variety of highly combustible chemical compounds in SS13, such as napalm. There is also a recipe called Life, which can create weird gribbly meat creatures or a (usually insane and homicidal) randomized NPC human. The Life recipe is triggered by heat once it's mixed together. I'm sure you can kind of see where this is going, but trust me, it's crazier than you think.
One of the Chemists managed to brew up some kind of nightmare potion that created a cloud of flaming Life. This had the effect of spawning an endless singularity of screaming, flaming creatures and people that exploded into an eternal Valhalla of fiery combat. The fucker had somehow made the reaction self-sustaining, so his workplace quickly became an ever-deepening mountain of burning bodies, fire, and screams. As the lag got worse and worse, an admin teleported in to see what the gently caress was going on, and came face-to-face with a vision of Hell. "MY BEAUTIFUL CREATIONS" lamented the immolated chemist, as his murderous children's fiery fists rained down upon him.
It lagged the round absolutely to gently caress and back and basically ruined it for everyone else, but nobody punished him for it. In fact, the admins immediately posted the story to the SS13 thread for everyone to marvel at. Playing a Chemist and creating any kind of laggy hellfoam or hellsmoke is basically griefing in and of itself, but every once in a while someone does something so incredible with it that even the people stuck staring at a laggy, useless Byond client can't help but be impressed. Like whenever someone makes a mixture so hot that it melts space. That happens occasionally.
The Crashwich
Another good example is The Crashwich.
Fractal cooking is a time-honoured tradition of SS13 Chefs. You take six food items (almost anything can be deep-fried to turn it into food), make them into a sandwich, use the sandwich to create a sandwich cake (any food can be made into a cake), slice up the cake, use six cake slices to make a sandwich, etc etc etc. This can create unholy monstrosities that lag the poo poo out of everything merely by virtue of existing, sometimes to the point of causing people to crash out as soon as the game tries to display the thing's exponential name. You will note that the Jay Wolff's buttcake I baked there cuts off after a while - its name was so drat big it overflowed the chat buffer. The buttcake is nothing. It and food like it are pitiful hors d'oeuvres compared to THE CRASHWICH.
You see, there's another life-creating mad scientist chemistry recipe in Space Station 13. It's extremely hard to discover and make, but it has the effect of imbuing any object it touches with life. This creates, for instance, a Living Crowbar that floats around and attacks people. At some point a Chef got the brilliant (terrible) idea to combine the living object recipe with fractal cooking.
Enter The Crashwich. Every time this haunted apocalypse of culinary hubris attacked someone, the game reported its name multiple times. When it charged, when it slammed into someone, and every time it hit them, the chat buffer would once again overflow with infinite recursive fractal sandwich. The entire station was brought to its knees by crippling lag, while anyone unfortunate enough to be present for The Crashwich's rampage would immediately crash out and have to reconnect their client, usually to find themselves dead and/or immediately crash out again because The Crashwich was still wreaking havoc.
The admins rushed to intervene, but were alarmed to find that The Crashwich was creating so much lag that most admins who looked at it were reliably crashing. Those with good enough connections to brute-force through all the lag were shocked to discover that the sheer latency generated by the demon sandwich was causing their admin commands to get lost somewhere in the coding nightmare that is Byond. The admins were trying to delete The Crashwich and failing. Ultimately, their efforts were in vain, and the server went down completely. The admins fought The Crashwich and The Crashwich won.
The admins were apparently so impressed that they collectively decided not to ban the responsible party, but instead to deliver a friendly ultimatum: they would not be punished for causing the server to go down in flames, as long as they never created another Crashwich. NEVER AGAIN.
Dr. Cogwerks posted:
Welp, I got myself permabanned from another strict-RP server.
Captain's Log
Edgar T. Bumblechumps
Oh boy, a new day on a new station, and I'm picked to be the captain of it all! There's a nice white ceremonial outfit and beret in my closet. It's a good day to be fancy. Dressed to the nines, my first act as Captain is to declare an official Assistant Appreciation Day. A security guard broadcasts "The captain is named Edgar T... Bumblechumps? What the gently caress? Really?"
For this rudeness, I take the donuts from the brig. A guard sees me in the security office and yells at me to get out, I show them my captain ID and they start custom emoting something about how hard they'll come down on me if I don't leave. Fine, gently caress them. I take the donuts to the library and offer them to the assistants as part of Assistant Appreciation Day. No assistants showed up, I joke that all assistants are now wanted for arrest for being rude. Many responses return of "you can't arrest them for that, is that a joke? don't joke about space law!! u are a poo poo captain!!"
I then proceeded to the bar and notice a delicious pie in the chef's window. I eat said pie. Chef starts screaming about his pie disappearing while it was cooling. I say over the radio that it must have been the bartender (one of those dumb whitelist catperson furries), who starts yelling "Ra'ja not take pie! Ra'ja not eat pie! Bad captain eat pie!" Four guards, the detective and the HoS show up to investigate this pie theft. The bartender and chef accuse me, I call it a horrible conspiracy. Multiple security guards start custom-emote cracking their knuckles or tapping their batons. As captain, I declare the case closed. As I leave, I hear them arguing over the security channel about whether they should put me on trial and have me stripped of command for eating that pie.
Later I'm walking around checking out some stuff around the bridge. I bump into the AI upload door and it opens, but the guard who threatened me earlier sees that and starts screaming bloody murder about it. Every guard and station head shows up, everyone screams at me for opening that door without consulting everyone first. CE starts threatening yelling that she'll beat the poo poo out of me if she ever sees me in any room without a good reason again. I recommend that they all go relax at the beach area for a bit. My suggestion is not heeded.
I return to my office and notice a maint door near my bed. This leads to the teleporter. While I'm in there, someone starts trying to hack the door open from the other side. I report this over the radio, grab the hand tele and hop to an interesting sounding beacon - the comms sat. One of the mean guards gets angry that I've "broken into the teleporter", finds my prints on the door I just used and starts bragging about how he finally has a real crime to bust me for, sabotaging station equipment! Until the detective points out that the captain obviosly has access to that door and there are electrician's glove fibers around the scene.
Feeling hungry after all that nonsense, I swing by the hallway in front of the kitchen. There's a window there where the chef can set food out for everyone who passes by. I take a loaf of bread, the chef starts screaming that I stole it. I become visibly fat and the security team demands that I be arrested and stripped of command for theft. The HoS tells them she'll deal with me personally and just talk it out.
One of the other station heads now demands my presence in the head meeting room. I show up, they all ask me if I know anything about the missing hand teleporter. Yep! I have it, why didn't they ask sooner? The CE yells a lot about this, that I've stolen expensive equipment for no reason or something. The HoS informs the security team that she fears a civil war is brewing. Security suggests overthrowing me again.
To try and make amends with security, I requisition a pumpkin from Botany, much to their anger, and deliver it to the HoS. I tell her it's a real prize-winning pumpkin, a present for her hard work and level-headedness. She accepts the pumpkin, I leave, the other three guards in the room and the warden are all outraged and start talking a lot of poo poo about how they can't wait to permabrig me.
At this point, I receive a PDA message from the Chief Medical Officer informing me that the catpeople are all in the library being suspicious. I head to the library and ask them to shoo. They take serious offense at me calling them "mangy catbeasts" and tell security. Security threatens to arrest and report me for racism, someone threatens to adminhelp me and have me gibbed. About half the crew is now absolutely livid that I called the furry players "catbeasts." Many threats are issued.
I wander into Robotics to find them working on some mech suits. A security guard was tailing me, sees a mech near me that I guess is fairly dangerous, and now every goddamned security guard show up yet again to scream at the roboticists for building mechswithout getting security's rubber stamp approval. They confiscate the mech suit and take it to the armory. I suggest that we sell the suit to get rid of it, the warden reports me and writes it into my criminal record. More threats, more angry custom emotes are given.
I run into the quartermasters, they ask me what the hell I'm doing, I offer them a secret mission. "A secret mission? What?" 'Yep. Here's your secret mission: have a great day.' 'Uhhhh....' Someone starts yelling over the security frequency about a botanist violently attacking a guard with some nettles. I pull out my egun to chase them off, everyone starts screaming that I have my gun out at code blue security levels and this is a total outrage or something. While this was going on, the Chief Medical Officer wrote "catbeests" somewhere on the station in crayon, security found it, and the whole security team agrees that I must have done it and this was the last straw.
Returning to QM, the quartermasters seem to have taken their mission to heart and have chilled out a bit. They ask me if I've heard all the poo poo being said on the radio about me, and express their concern at all the treats of mutiny. In appreciation for their concerns, I offer them a deal... if I can reclaim the Giygas mech suit from beneath the warden's gaze in the armory, I'll let them keep all the proceeds from selling it. They claim this will earn about $20k and they're quite happy to be part of this deal.
So I set up the teleporter, head to the armory, sneak in a side door and steal the gigantic scary-looking armed mech suit through a portal. Amusingly enough, it fits into a locker, which I deliver to the QMs. They dutifully sell it. The warden finds out that the mech is missing. This causes a huge outburst, the HoS orders everyone to start packing laser weapons. I am immediately blamed for it. Lethal force is authorized against me over the radio channels I can still easily hear, so I suit up for space and disappear myself to another zlevel. A full mutiny against me has now been declared by almost all the other station heads and security.
I use my PDA to set the station terminals to read "~no catbeasts allowed~" and people start yelling in OOC about it. After floating around in space for a bit with spacesuited security trying to find me, I stumble across a soviet outpost... which conveniently has a newscast terminal.
-Breaking News: The Handsome and Dashing Captain Edgar T. Bumblechumps finds his dream of being chosen Captain of the Year dashed by a full-scale insurrecton from his own guards . Catbeasts roam the halls, defying God and nature alike. In these dark times, crew, always remember that Captain Bumblechumps loves you. Stay strong, friends! [Story by Edgar T. Bumblechumps (Captain)]
-THEY AREN'T CATBEASTS [Story by Random Crewmember]
-omfg stop insulting the tarajan they aren't cats!!!!! [Story by Someone Else]
(My first newscast gets erased by security)
-Breaking News: Beloved Man of the People, Edgar T. Bumblechumps finds his recent story redacted by cruel censors. Free speech advocates all around the system react in outrage at this suppression of the free press. A catbeast conspiracy? Stay tuned. [Story by Edgar T. Bumblechumps (Captain)]
ATTENTION: This channel has been deemed as threatening to the welfare of the station, and marked with a Nanotrasen D-Notice. No further feed story additions are allowed while the D-Notice is in effect.
Someone now issues a station-wide command alert about how I'm wanted for treason, dereliction of duty, behavior unbecoming of an officer and a bunch of other poo poo. The shuttle gets called because of this. I sneak my way back to the station level and float around waving at the crew through the windows and offering them my friendship. Many rudely rebuff me. I escape by myself in a pod with most of the crew still wanting me dead.
OOC: (the warden) I CAn'T BELIEVE I HAD TO SHUT OFF THE WHOLE NEWSCAST SYSTEM BECAUSE OF ONE PERSON
OOC: (some other guard) that loving captain was awful!!! awful round!
OOC: (the chef): The captain stole my pies, and food.And burgers.
This morning, Reinhardt T. Bumblechumps, brother of Edgar gets a chance at captain.
Trying to sell the station corgi out the QM dock had tragic results, so to atone for this I took the corgi's body to the chapel. Security immediately turned on me, I broke into the vault and dragged the unarmed useless nuke around on a parade around the station to instill some patriotism.
YOU HAVE BEEN BANNED
Reason: Killed Ian and dragged him around, stole station with RCD and dragged nuke around, etc etc -- sorry! Expires: PERMENANT
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Jan 19, 2016 23:35
