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 This is a text adventure Let's Play. As such, spoilers would be even more damaging than usual. Keep a lid on it.  What are we playing? Fallen Hero: Rebirth, by Hosted Games in partnership with Malin Rydén, is a 2018 text adventure. It stars a powerful telepath who used to be a hero...long ago...and now is something else. The developers describe the game as follows: quote:Become the greatest telepathic villain Los Diablos has ever known! Once you were famous; soon you will be infamous. That is, unless your old friends in the Rangers stop you first. Juggle different identities and preserve your secrets as you build new alliances and try to forget the friendships you've left behind. I won't give away anything more on my own, except to provide a brief content warning: This game stars a dark-side telepath, and doesn't shy away from some of the morally nastier uses of this. There are some grim moments, and depending on our path through the game, we can do some pretty ugly and cruel things. That said, there is no pornographic, gore-nographic, or otherwise Hard R-rated content in this game. If this game was a movie, you could watch it with your parents or with teenaged children. How are we playing it? This LP will be, of course, almost pure text. No sense taking screenshots when I can literally click-drag and Ctrl-C from the game into the thread. I will take us through the game, multiple times if the thread is interested, showing off complete playthroughs. I have played it numerous times and I know how it all works, but I'll commentate as though I am new. Note that the game branches so much that we couldn't possibly see every story, even if I did this for a year straight. If you're liking the Let's Play, I strongly suggest you buy the game and play out your own story - partly because it's excellent and partly because sequels are coming, and your endgame save data (if you get there) will hook into the next game. Just because it's a text LP of a text game doesn't mean I'll be showing you everything there is to see and enjoy! Audience participation? Yes, very much so. This is fundamentally a choose-your-own-adventure format game, and I will be putting decisions to a vote quite frequently. Almost every decision matters to some extent, and some decisions matter a great deal. The game does not flag the critical choices, and some innocuous choices may have significant knock-on effects. I think that is part of the fun of it, and I will therefore pause for votes at seemingly random times. Not every major decision will come to a vote - especially not in the first playthrough - and not every vote will be a world-changing affair either. Please do not post any spoilers, including coy "not-a-spoiler-but" nonsense. I beg you, follow my lead and act like it's your first time. With that said, let's do this. Table of Contents Update One - The Heist, Part One - Immediately Below! Update Two - The Heist, Part Two Update Three - The Heist, Part Three Update Four - Past and Present Update Five - Jane Update Six - Heartbreak Part 1 / Rats Part 1 Update Seven - Rats Part 2 / Heartbreak Part 2 Update Eight - Pressure Situations Update Nine - Reunions Update Ten - Heartbreak Part 3 Update Eleven - Moving Swiftly On Update Twelve - Shots! Update Thirteen - The Plan Update Fourteen - Psychic Surgery Update Fifteen - Battle in the Park Update Sixteen - It's A Date Update Seventeen - The Gala Update Eighteen - Showtime Update Nineteen - Grudge Match Update Twenty - The Easy Way Update Twenty-One - Consequences Update Twenty-Two - Coffee Update Twenty-Three - Sex Scene Update Twenty-Four - Aftermath --- Los Diablos… Whoever chose to rename Los Angeles after the Big One in 1980 was not far off. The quakes had ripped the entire West Coast infrastructure to shreds, destroying most of the historic districts. The San Andreas Fault had just finished rippling when the Cascadia subduction zone was triggered, and the entire coastline heaved like a shaken rug, sending tsunamis racing up and down the coast. The seismic upheaval awoke the slumbering Mammoth Lake system, one of the continent’s two dormant supervolcanos. Luckily—if such a word could be used for a disaster of that magnitude—the lava chamber under the dormant volcano had not filled completely, and the eruption was less disastrous than it could have been. What the quakes had not destroyed, the resulting tsunami drowned. And when the ash had finally stopped falling, someone had looked at the ruins of Los Angeles and decided that this was no longer a place fit for angels. Thus, Los Diablos was born. At first, the government had tried to rebuild the ravaged coastline, but aftershocks and a crashing economy forced the politicians to focus on salvaging the Heartland and the East. The Midwest had been heavily affected by the falling ash, and the resulting food rationing made riots an everyday experience. As the years passed, reclamation stalled. In 1992, the West Coast was finally declared a free economic zone in an attempt to incite the private industry to do what the government could not. No taxes. No regulations. No federal government. To everybody's surprise, it worked. Like the Wild West of old, the ravaged coastline attracted the adventurous and the foolhardy. Enough people wanted to live their lives without being held down by the heavy hand of big government so that the wave of refugees turned into a trickle of immigrants. Enough companies wanted to ply their trade without rules and regulations for money to flow in as well. The roads began to be repaired, and the cities, cleared of rubble. And, right from the start, Los Diablos proved to be a haven for the Enhanced. > I want to learn more about the Enhanced. I already know. Take me to the action….  This is basically the "have you played before" fork; choosing the first option gives you some extra backstory. Let's learn about the world.--- The so-called Hero drugs had first seen the light in the seventies—an unforeseen side-effect of an attempt to create the perfect diet pill. Corners had been cut and safety trials skipped, so the pill hit the market as a dietary supplement instead of a strictly controlled drug. None was shocked that there were side effects, but the nature of those effects was a different story. Many people died, but in some, the metabolic changes resulted in weird and wondrous transformations. The rumors became reality when a woman who could light fires with her mind demonstrated her talents on live television. The active compound was analyzed, purified, and modified until you had a drug strong enough to kill most people. But the few survivors became far more than they had been. The drug was banned, of course, declared an illegal narcotic in 1976. How many people could consider injecting something that had a roughly 95% chance of killing you or turning you into a cripple for life? The answer was, surprisingly many. They were the dreamers and the desperate, the thrill-seekers, the greedy, and the plain insane. Prices went through the roof. The industry went underground, and when it resurfaced, it was in the reclaimed ruins of the West. The world had to relearn what it meant to be human; it had to adjust to masked heroes and villains battling it out in colorful costumes, with bombastic names. At first, the masks had been a way to preserve anonymity; the bank-robber's mask turned into the villain's horned helmet. Soon, the masks had begun to represent something else. A new life. A new destiny. It was a new America, and it deserved new heroes. So our setting includes powerful parahumans, but they're almost all broken, messed-up people operating in a lawless environment. This feels a little Wildbow so far (read Worm!), which is just fine by me. You can tell so many stories against this backdrop.--- The government tried to stem the tide, but it was too late. Putting the cat back in the box is harder than letting it out, and in the end, they just had to accept this new state of affairs. The drugs were undeniably lethal, but the military had been making enhanced humans since Vietnam. And as the research companies moved west in the nineties, the lack of regulations led to new discoveries. Progress that, admittedly, was built on human suffering—but nobody could make an omelet without cracking a few eggs. Cybernetics had been used by the military since the fifties, but now they became compact and better-integrated with biology; armored suits grew sleeker and less prone to breakdowns. Washington made the decision that though the West was nominally considered a Free Territory, the government had to have some presence there to deal with the increasingly violent Enhanced. Thus, in 1997, the Marshal system was instituted. Appointed by the president himself, the marshals were given the powers of judge and jury and sent into the West to create some semblance of order. Some were victims of the Hero drug, quickly nicknamed Boosts by the general populace. Others were rebuilt by the government or private contractors into cybernetic "enhanciles" armed with military hardware. They were heavily modified humans, their name soon shortened to Mods in the headlines of the East. Now the public had heroes as well as villains, and the country turned from grieving its dead to looking towards a future dragged from the comic books of the past. America was hiding under the blanket, reading comics with a flashlight, trying to forget the terrors of the world outside. And it worked. Nothing is more precious than a dream, and this was one that could resonate with enough people so that the trickle of immigrants moving west turned into a flood. New cities grew on the corpses of the old ones, and though the quakes persisted, people learned to live with them. They learned to live with the danger because there was always the thrill as well. The thrill of living in a brand-new age where men and women flew like birds and called down rain from the clouds to end the incessant droughts. People had a dream, and like a fool, you shared that dream. But that was then, and this is… The extra background ends here; taking the "jump right in" option above would skip you the next page. The story starts...now!--- The tackle is brutal enough to tear the air from your lungs as it catapults you across the street. You just about manage to bite back the curse on your lips. When you curse, your expletive of choice is usually… …darn. > …hell. …crap. …Christ. …something else. You can set your swear word to anything you like by picking the last option. If you guys have any ideas, let me know; you can change the options at any time.--- Hell. That hurt more than you thought it would. The safety glass of the store window breaks with a sharp crack as you smack into it. Shards surround you like a crystal snowstorm as you are sent flying into the bridal store. Alarms blare to life as mannequins topple like bowling pins around you, their dismembered plastic torsos clad in extravagant dresses, flouncing like butterflies with their legs torn off. An all-too-familiar sight… Remembered bodies. Real this time. Broken on the ground. Broken by the fall. As you are about to break. Or is this now? Was that then? The memories threaten to overwhelm you, and for a moment you are not sure exactly where or who you are. What do you do? > I take a moment to catch my breath and make sure nothing is broken. I shake my head vigorously. This is no time for memories. We just woke up in the body, after all. The more we can do to ground ourselves, the better. At least, that's what I reckon.--- Hard skin. Tough muscles. So very different from what you are used to. Could this body even break? Will you find out? Hopefully not. The important thing is staying in control; you have not spent the last two years preparing yourself for this just to blow it all by letting your past mistakes get the better of you. This is far too important to allow for even the possibility of failure. At least you haven't lost your grip on the small black box you stole just minutes ago. Priorities. Right now, that should be getting to your feet and getting out of here. Up. Good. You are still in one piece. Unfortunately, so is Herald. You catch a flash of his indigo suit as he flies through the already broken window. He tackles you straight through the back of the store, further into the mall. Hell. Not again. I focus on protecting the box with my own body. > I try to keep myself safe. Priorities are one thing, and this isn't our body as such, but there's no point in being overly reckless. --- If you get knocked out, it won't matter whether you lose the box or not. As long as you're still standing, you can take it back. Twisting in the air, you manage to brace yourself at the last minute, hitting the wall with your shoulder in a tackle of your own. But it still hurts like hell…. Hell! You had no idea how much it would actually hurt to be tackled through a wall. They make it look so easy on television, wooden beams splintering like cheap movie props. The truth is far different. First, the initial impact slams the air from your lungs, something not even your near-impervious skin protects you from. Then, for the briefest of moments, your body is a battleground between the momentum you have built up and the structural integrity of the wall itself. Compressed flesh, bone-deep bruises blossoming under tough, silver skin—and then the metal supports bend, and the pulverized concrete turns into a cloud of dust. The dust clings briefly to you before you smack into another wall and collapse there, velocity depleted. You never really knew, did you? After all, this is not even your body. Yeah. We're telepathic, powerfully so, and not a very nice person about it. We've snatched someone else's body - another Enhanced, at that - and seem to be conducting a heist.--- You always thought Lady Argent was invincible, her silver body shedding bullets like rain, slender muscles still strong enough to punch through walls. You saw her fight on illegal video feeds and officially sanctioned propaganda. Always cocky. Always direct. Always with a predatory smile on her face. She was the perfect woman of silvery steel, and none of you ever caught a hint of how much it actually hurt, doing the things she did. Not until now, when you are hiding inside her skin, when you feel every single bruise, do you realize that this was what she always hid from the cameras. Her invulnerability came at a price. She could still feel everything because you certainly can now. The pale blue skinsuit glued to her form protects and supports, but does little to dampen. You can feel broken masonry digging into your back, and you have to get up. You have to get up now before you lose control of her. __ My will is strong enough to control her; I will not allow myself to fail. __ I am cleverer than she; I run her body, but trap her mind. --- Which brings us to our first vote: Shall we try to crush Lady Argent's will in a test of strength, or trick it into compliance? I should point out that our character has stats. By clicking a button on the game's sparse interface, we can pull up details. For now, our stats are: Physical Status Stamina: You are rested. Willpower: You feel rested. Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds. Telepathy Strength of Mind: 50% ||| Subtle Manipulations: 50% Psychological Profile Infamy: 0% ||| Obscurity: 100% Arrogance: 10% ||| Anonymity: 90% Ruthlessness: 50% ||| Empathy: 50% Daring: 41% ||| Caution: 59% There is no way to directly manipulate stats, e.g. by allocating skill points. Instead, our decisions influence what kind of character we have. For example, by protecting our body over the box earlier we showed the game that we are a somewhat cautious person. If we keep doing cautious things, some daring options later on may become unavailable because the game knows our character wouldn't act that way! And vice-versa, of course; if we don't show caution from time to time, our character may become reckless and refuse cautious options. Obviously, the "strong enough to control her" option tests Strength of Mind and "trapping her mind" tests Subtle Manipulations. Choose wisely! Voting will be open for at least 12 and at most 36 hours. I will post again when there are roughly two hours remaining. One vote per person. Sorites fucked around with this message at 05:05 on Feb 29, 2020 |
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Jan 4, 2020 06:57
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We are tricking this nice lady into doing the stuff she always wanted to do.
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Jan 4, 2020 08:29
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Can't risk it. If they got back control, they could talk. Crush.
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Jan 4, 2020 11:31
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Those numbers are giving me worrying flashbacks to Choice Of games... No opinion on how we control our puppet, but if we can choose a custom curse then like all good doggos we should go with h*ck.
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Jan 4, 2020 11:36
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Crush her will. The last thing we would need in a fight is for her to realize what happened and try to fight back at an inopportune moment.
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Jan 4, 2020 14:37
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Yeah this is a choice of games product. Did they do something to earn a poo poo rep lately?
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Jan 4, 2020 17:03
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Siegkrow posted:Yeah this is a choice of games product. It's a Choice Of product, but under their Hosted system. The author wrote the whole thing using the Choice Engine (or whatever it's called) and the studio published it under a profit sharing structure. In house devs had no creative involvement.
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Jan 4, 2020 18:07
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Randalor posted:Crush her will. The last thing we would need in a fight is for her to realize what happened and try to fight back at an inopportune moment. Yes CRUSH
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Jan 5, 2020 13:13
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Looks like we're going toward the Strength of Mind approach. I'll leave voting open for another two hours, and then we're committed!
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Jan 6, 2020 21:14
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Yeah, let's do a Mind Crush
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Jan 6, 2020 21:34
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The Heist, Part Two You always thought Lady Argent was invincible, her silver body shedding bullets like rain, slender muscles still strong enough to punch through walls. You saw her fight on illegal video feeds and officially sanctioned propaganda. Always cocky. Always direct. Always with a predatory smile on her face. She was the perfect woman of silvery steel, and none of you ever caught a hint of how much it actually hurt, doing the things she did. Not until now, when you are hiding inside her skin, when you feel every single bruise, do you realize that this was what she always hid from the cameras. Her invulnerability came at a price. She could still feel everything because you certainly can now. The pale blue skinsuit glued to her form protects and supports, but does little to dampen. You can feel broken masonry digging into your back, and you have to get up. You have to get up now before you lose control of her. > My will is strong enough to control her; I will not allow myself to fail. I am cleverer than she; I run her body, but trap her mind. We could probably outplay Lady Argent, even with our base level Subtle Manipulations - but we can't afford even a momentary lapse of control. Let's just overpower her.--- It only takes a moment to focus inward, crushing her emerging consciousness under the avalanche of your own thoughts and desires. You don't need her mind to be conscious, just her body, so you wrap your thoughts around her reptile brain of speed and strength and leap to your feet. She is not like a normal puppet; you don't dare let her mind get even close to waking. You’ve caught a bull by the horns—now you just have to keep control of it. Easier said than done. You can't tap into her memories or her true skills, and so you are left a stumbling marionette: a bungler hijacking the brain of one of the most powerful women on the West Coast. It's true that you were a good hand-to-hand fighter back when you played the hero game, but never like her. You wish. Things would have been very different. When you were on the side of angels, you didn't use your telepathic powers to possess people; instead, you read surface thoughts and mapped intentions. You knew when somebody would take a shot, and you would just choose to be elsewhere. If someone thought about punching you, you made sure to dodge. You wove illusions and distractions to keep up with the best; you used guns and technological toys, everything you could, to hide the fact that you were physically just a normal, well-trained human. You always had to have a back-up plan…. You don't have one now. By completely subsuming Lady Argent's will beneath our own, we can't access her skills. Maybe a subtler manipulator could have fooled her into, say, attacking her friends; we'll have to do it 'by hand', as it were.--- It takes every ounce of your power and skill to keep her mind in check, to piggyback her nightmares, to keep her unaware that this is really happening. That she really is fighting a fellow Ranger. Or rather, that you are. Everything had gone so perfectly right up until Herald showed up. Lady Argent was one of the Rangers, so she had clearance to remove things from their vault. And with the fake replacement in place, nobody would know that anything had been stolen unless they specifically looked in that particular container. And then Herald had spotted her on the way out, and you panicked, hit him, and made a run for it. Not your best moment. Five blocks later, here you are. "What has gotten into you, Argent?" Herald asks, as you wobble unsteadily. He sounds worried. He should be. I smile threateningly; he should be afraid of me. I try for my best Argent impersonation. > I just punch the rear end in a top hat. I think subtlety is out; we'll never fool Herald with Lady Argent's memories crushed. I doubt we could even mimic her voice on manual control. But there's no sense taking risks by gloating, either; we started this with power, let's continue as we began.--- Herald really needs to be taken down a peg. You never liked him and his tousled blond hair and picture-perfect smile, always ready for the cameras. You never liked him, and you had dismissed him as unsuitable for possession for that reason—because the sad truth is that, as a telepath, emotions influence you far too readily. Lady Argent was the better choice by far. "Argent, what are you doing? This isn't like you." Herald hovers a few inches above the rubble, trying to reason with a woman who is no longer there. You wonder what exactly he thinks he has done to make her mad enough to do this. Trouble in paradise? Whatever it is, it can only be helpful to you. A team divided would make your future plans a lot easier to accomplish. You might not have the skills of your own golden days, but in this body, you are stronger and faster than he is, and there is nothing wrong with your punching. Your sudden leap overwhelms him. It's no secret that he and Lady Argent are lovers, and for a moment, worry causes him to hesitate. He doesn't even flinch when your punch hits him squarely in the jaw, his eyes glazing over before his body hits the ground. Now that is a satisfying sight if you ever saw one. Oh, if only you dared to spare the focus to say something clever. But she is strong and her subconscious is fighting you, so you need to break this off fast. You are not here to fight, after all. The box is safe and whole, and that is the important part. There is always room for one more kick. > No time for petty vengeance. --- You won't be the idiot who gets caught just because they can't resist the temptation to drag things out. You have seen far too many villains fall on that particular stumbling block; in fact, you have been the cause of such falls more than once. We, uh, weren't the best fighter back in the day.It is a painful but effective way to win a fight, as long as you have a team that can rush in and save you before it is too late. That is a thing you no longer have. Time to get going. --- Time to make a run for it—not out into the streets, but further back into the mall where you were tossed. It's safer that way; there are more members of the Rangers you don't want to run into. Steel. Charge. You're not sure which would be worse. And you don't plan to take the risk of meeting either. Tearing through the mall, you barely register nameless stores and screaming people as you run past them. The soft interior walls are no more a hindrance than the windows as you make your own shortcut towards the fire exit. A quick look over your shoulder reveals nothing but the rising dust, and you take a moment to release the breath you've been holding. Then you open the door and step out into what you hope is not a police cordon. Luck is with you: it's just a deserted alley filled with trashcans. You're not getting a better chance. Sucking in a deep and nervous breath, you drop the deceptively innocent-looking box you stole into the trash. And in another breath, you are out on the main street again, glittering in the sunlight as cars screech to a halt around you. All that remains now is to go out in a properly villainous fashion. You have what you came for, and it's time to let this puppet go; she has done her job. > And yet, I can't quite resist lingering inside her brain. Reluctantly, I start loosening my tethers to Lady Argent's mind. We've crushed Lady Argent's will, and it seems to have helped us win the fight cleanly. Maybe that means we have time to stick around in here, even learn something we could use?--- You are starting to get the hang of how her drug-tweaked biology works, and the thrill of being able to lift a car over your head and toss it down the street is intoxicating. You are a woman of steel in a world of cardboard, and you leap and land on a truck, raising your hands towards the heavens as you laugh maniacally. So this is the mark of a proper villain, you find yourself thinking; they laugh because they cannot keep their silence. The joy is simply too great—the world is too beautiful when it burns, people scattering around your feet like ants. Maybe you are all children at heart, dressing up in bright, revealing costumes, playing at being gods or devils. You laugh at that ridiculous notion as well. But Marshal Steel is already barging down the street, massive metal fists swinging like pendulums as he gathers speed. His power armor might actually be able to hurt her. > What do I care? It's not even my body. Pain is something I'd rather avoid. Time to exit this body. I would normally put a choice like this to a vote, but what are the chances of goons voting against a big cape fight. Let's do it. And besides, we're just about at the end of this scene; there are some big decisions coming up.--- You tense your borrowed legs and jump to meet him. Maybe it's morbid curiosity, but you would like to see if she truly would be strong enough to beat even the armored behemoth who once fought The Calamity to a standstill. Could her claws penetrate his armor? You wish you could see the look on his face then. Sadly, your control is fraying, and the massive metal gauntlet aimed at your head is far faster than it has any right to be. Someone's gotten an upgrade. The impact of the blow slams you right out of her unconscious body…. A moment of vertigo… …And you open your eyes a second later, the disconnect making your stomach turn. Nausea. Bile rising. Hell. You wobble on unsteady legs, making it to the bathroom just in time to save yourself the indignity of throwing up all over your clothes. The hotel room's air conditioner hums quietly, but you can hear sirens in the distance. By now, the battle must be all over the networks. But you keep hugging the toilet until the world stops spinning. You did it. You actually did it. You would laugh if vomit weren't dripping from your mouth. It is hard to stand up, but you need to get that taste out of your mouth. Dragging yourself to your feet with the help of the sink, you quickly rinse and spit, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. I suppose most people would see me as a man. I suppose most people would see me as a woman. Who cares? I was never one for binaries. --- End of the prologue. We are now about to enter character creation. This is almost entirely cosmetic, so don't worry too much about it. However, it's clear that Malin has tried hard to let the avatar be very malleable. Our choices are: Gender Presentation: Masculine / feminine / androgynous Gender Identity: Same as above from birth, happily / same as above from birth, reluctantly / transitioned to become the above Eye Colour: Black / brown / hazel / green / gray / blue Apparent Ethnicity (to strangers): Black / Latinx / Asian / Middle Eastern / White / Mixed Hair Colour: Black / dark brown / light brown / auburn / red / blond(e) Hair Character: Straight / wavy / curly / kinky Hair Style: Options depend on hair character, but generally unobtrusive styles to match our stealthy power set. No mohawks or wild spikes here! For this playthrough, I'll model the avatar after myself and cut most of the selection menus to keep things flowing. --- ...It is hard to stand up, but you need to get that taste out of your mouth. Dragging yourself to your feet with the help of the sink, you quickly rinse and spit, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. Looking at yourself is not your favorite pastime; it is too easy to be reminded of who you used to be. Being a woman…there are rules there you must follow if you don't want to be noticed. If you want to fit in. Smile the right way. Move with the right grace. Don't be too much. Be a nobody. You might not like these strictures, but they come in useful now and then, make people expect certain things of you. > I was always good at being what I was supposed to be. I had no choice; I was taught these rules. I chose this for myself; I was not always considered a woman. In a world of voluptuous heroines and seductive villainesses, you’re not the most beautiful of women, but you were never meant to look that way. Standing out too much would be detrimental to the mission. It's hard to imagine yourself as younger, more hopeful, and maybe even idealistic. It's hard—but sometimes when you look in the mirror, there is still that moment of vertigo that makes you wonder what you are doing, and whether going through with your plan really is the wisest choice. Not that you need to wonder…. You know it's not. However, right now, it feels like the only choice left that makes sense. You want to tear off your clothes and take a shower, but that would be pushing your luck. So instead you quickly rinse your mouth, the mouthwash burning away the taste of vomit. Splashing a bit of cold water in your face makes you feel a lot better; mental exhaustion is far more dangerous than physical in your line of work. This seems important! We are a psychic, and that will always be our main asset and resource.There are lines under your eyes, and you have to admit you look far more like your age than you'd like. Being thirty is not the end of the world, but you no longer have the stamina you used to, and there are days when you really hate how you look. Today is one of them. Right now, your eyes are the flat brown of a muddy field, cracked and broken by a merciless sun. The weather is sunny like always, so hiding behind sunglasses is an option that doesn’t look out of place. That is important right now. Fitting in. Giving nobody a chance to get suspicious. And since most people see you as Asian, it's easy to stay under the radar. There's no reason people should pay any attention to you, as long as you keep your head down. Nobody will look twice at you—with the help of a little telepathic nudging, if necessary. This is not well explained, but the implication is that you live in the matching cultural enclave. My character, for example, lives in Chinatown where nobody would look at her twice.Sometimes you wish that you could tell people the truth about everything, but right now you just have to live with their assumptions. One day, you will—maybe even one day soon—but right now, you must be exactly what they picture you as: a nobody. Splashing some more cold water onto your face, you take a deep breath to try to chase away the headache that keeps sneaking up on you. You don't really do anything with your hair, so it stays black and straight, and you keep it shoulder length. You suppose that might be called a haircut, but honestly, it is just letting it grow out until it gets long enough to annoy you. --- Now all you have to do is to collect the box. The question is, what would be the best way to go about it? I will find a suitable puppet and have them collect it for me. That way, nobody will recognize me at the scene. This is too important; I will go and collect it myself. It's been years since I was in the paper, and I wore a mask back then. --- Apologies for the longer update, but I wanted to finish the prologue and get to this major decision. Will we go to the scene in our own body, or go through all that again to create another temporary mind slave? Dossier Physical Status Stamina: You are rested. Willpower: You feel exhausted. Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds. Telepathy Strength of Mind: 60% Subtle Manipulations: 50% Psychological Profile Infamy: 0% ||| Obscurity: 100% Arrogance: 10% ||| Anonymity: 90% Ruthlessness: 54% ||| Empathy: 46% Daring: 48% ||| Caution 52% Notable changes are to Willpower (we are exhausted from crushing Lady Argent) and Strength of Mind (up to 60 from 50). We've also experienced minor changes to our Ruthlessness and Daring metrics. Keep in mind that this doesn't mean our powers grew and our personality changed! Rather, the 'dossier' the game keeps on us gets updated as we go along. It can even be changed by our behaviour in flashbacks, even though those changes "already happened". This can have some funky results from time to time, but in general it works well at keeping up the idea that no matter what we do, it's in character for us. Adding to this, any option which is totally uncharacteristic or beyond our abilities will be shown in the selection menu but locked out. Voting will be open for between twelve and thirty-six hours, and I will give two hours of notice before closing it down.
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Jan 7, 2020 05:49
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Get it yourself, no point in taxing our willpower just yet. Also a light walk may take the nausea away.
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Jan 7, 2020 07:02
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Get it yourself. We might as well go for a walk, maybe get some caffeine on the way. Give the heroes time to clear out before we get there.
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Jan 7, 2020 17:01
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Given the fact that mental exhaustion is up, I don't think we can actually afford to puppet another person. Plus no one knows how we are yet, so that helps. Given the event, there's going to be a LOT of bystanders around anyways.
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Jan 8, 2020 23:42
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Given that we're unanimous so far, let's drop the two hour warning here.
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Jan 9, 2020 02:58
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The Heist, Part Three Now all you have to do is to collect the box. The question is, what would be the best way to go about it? I will find a suitable puppet and have them collect it for me. That way, nobody will recognize me at the scene. > This is too important; I will go and collect it myself. It's been years since I was in the paper, and I wore a mask back then. --- It feels odd walking down the street as a normal woman when you had fought here as a silvery goddess just minutes ago. You know you are cutting it close, but you want to get there before the LDPD starts cordoning the area off or some desperate bum raids the trashcan you are searching for. Your legs are weak and shaky, but you do your best to look like nothing is wrong. Not that anybody is looking at you—now that the punching has stopped, the crowds are gathering to gawk at the devastation. A fire hydrant has broken, spraying the street with rain. A rainbow hovers as the sun peeks through the clouds. At the center of the crowd, you see Marshal Steel talking to the police, an unconscious Lady Argent wrapped in Kevlar netting at his feet. She looks untouched, still picture-perfect, silver skin washed clean by the water. You wonder what she will remember once she woke up. What story will she tell him? But that isn't really your concern anymore, is it? Marshal Steel—or as you know him, Captain Wei Chen. He is looking much the same as when last you laid eyes on him, though seven years have passed. Perhaps he's made of the same material as his armor; there's no softness there, just sharp angles and stern lines. If Lady Argent is new, he most certainly is not. I have a strong desire to not gently caress with this guy. His single punch didn't just knock us out of Lady Argent's head, it KO'ed her completely. And we were throwing cars around with her body.You're not supposed to know his civilian identity, but then again, it is hard to hide things from a telepath. You can see that Steel is talking to the LDPD, the familiar frown etched deeply on his face. Part of you wonders what he has to say; could you take the risk of trying to listen in? Your telepathic powers should be able to misdirect his attention, but it's still a risk. Is it one worth taking? No. I skirt the scene and go pick up my package. > I pause to listen in and look at the devastation like everybody else. Let's blend with the crowd. The one woman looking away from the scene of a cape fight might stand out more than another bystander.--- The police are pushing back the crowd now, and you feel like the safest thing would be to stop and gawk with the rest of them: just another norm, eager for a look at real-life hero. Marshal Steel's eyes pass over you briefly, but you hope you are just another face in the crowd. It seems to work; it doesn't take long until someone else catches his attention. There is no spike of recognition, and though you don't dare pry too closely, you think it would be safe to listen in for a few moments. It is not that hard to shift a little closer to the action; there's already a lot of pushing and jostling going on as people try to get a better look at Lady Argent on the ground. It's not every day that you get a sight like that, even in Los Diablos. How many phones are out, taking furtive shots of the proceedings? With the Public Privacy law making it illegal to film or take pictures of people without their consent (or a license), none of these shots will make it into the newspapers. But if you know where to look, you bet it will be all over the net come evening. There was a lot of debate when the law was pushed through, but as the country was under martial law, there was no real opposition. Funnily enough, it only tends to be enforced when the people targeted are public or company officials; there are far too many things that need to be kept out of the public eye. You know all about that. "No, I don't care what Mayor Alvarez has to say. You don't have the jurisdiction here." Marshal Steel speaks the way he stands, as if he was two seconds from punching you in the face. When you first met, you had the illusion that there had to be some sort of warm and mushy center under the tough exterior. But after a few years, you grew out of that delusion. Maybe he was in the military for too long. Or maybe he disliked you too much…. "She rampaged through the Citadel Mall." The LDPD sergeant stands his ground, which is impressive. "…And that is after the mess she caused on the way there." Looks like relations between the two groups have not gotten better in your absence. Good. That will make things a lot easier for you. "It is still not your jurisdiction." Steel is turning around, clearly done with the discussion. "Listen." The LDPD sergeant actually places a hand on Steel's arm, and the crowd gasps, hoping for blood. "If you can't even control your own people, we—" Steel has turned back now, very gently removing the hand from his armor. Despite the LDPD body armor, you know that Steel's powered combat suit could easily crush both the man's head and hand if he wanted to. "We are the ones who will deal with this," Steel cuts him off. "Whatever caused Lady Argent to run amok, it is our business. Not yours." "The mayor will be in touch about this, Marshal." The sergeant rubs his hand. Though you can't see his face behind the faceplate of his helmet, you can see in the way he tenses up that this is not over. Should you stir the waters a little? > I will telepathically encourage him to remember this slight. I will telepathically push him to escalate this confrontation further. I will start spreading whispers among the crowd that the Rangers are loose cannons. I will stay silent and see how this plays out. We're out here to conserve our energy reserves, and we blew a lot of power mentally crushing Lady Argent. I like the idea of putting a wedge between the cops and the capes - but let's be cautious. A civilian acting too much out of character might even alert Marshal Steel that a telepath is around!--- "I have no doubts about that," Steel replies with a sigh. Most likely it will not be the first nor the last time he has heard from the mayor. Closing your eyes for a moment, you try to ignore the sweaty, pushing bodies around you to reach out for the LDPD sergeant's mind. Joshua Miller. That's his name, but it's not important. Reaching out, you pull on the feelings of entitled frustration you can sense. He just wants respect, and Steel refuses to give it to him. That's something you can feed, turning a passing annoyance into a long-running resentment. This will be one less ally for the Rangers, and who knows when that will come in handy. You are playing the long game here, after all. "Steel? Is she okay?" Herald has finally managed to take to the air again, looking more than a little dented after what you put him through as Lady Argent. Still, he looks suitably heroic, even with his bruised face, and you can hear the crowd gasp. It is easy to dislike Steel; it is a lot harder to do the same with Herald. You never had that problem. "Of course she is. Just out cold." Steel does not turn to look at Lady Argent; instead, he has positioned himself so that he stands between her and the LDPD. "I don't know what got into her. I…" Herald lands next to her, touching his own bruised face. You wonder if he's more angry or worried: his expression could mean either. "We are not having this discussion in the street." Steel keeps staring down the LDPD sergeant. "Get her back to the base." "Yes, but…" Herald looks at the assembled officers as if he is afraid they will try to shoot him. "I assume you are well enough to carry her?" Steel's voice has hardened into that particular military quality that you hate—the tone that means he is done discussing, and is giving orders. "Yes, sir." Herald has apparently heard that voice before as well, and he snaps to attention. "As long as she doesn't wake up." "She won't." "If you say so…." It is a bit gratifying to see how Herald winces when he picks her up. Is he just sore, or is there a bit of fear there as well? In either case, this is no longer your business. You need to get back to the alley and pick up the box before it is too late. You've had your fun for the day. You walk fast and don't look back, even though you really want to. The alley is as deserted as you left it; everyone else had headed for the commotion down the road. Opening the trashcan, you rummage around a little before finding the box, marveling at its heaviness now that you don't have Lady Argent's enhanced strength. It's an odd feeling, that your future can depend on something as small as this. But then again, you always paid attention to the details. Otherwise, you wouldn't be alive today. The worst part is done. --- Finally, you can relax, your mission over and the box safe in your possession. The sunglasses go on as soon as you exit the alley. The sun is beating down hard enough to make the streets shimmer like a mirage. You are uncomfortably hot, but choose to walk all the same: one less cabdriver who could point the finger in your direction. It's worth a little sweat, to be sure. Your head is throbbing hard: the light hurts, even through the sunglasses, and the distant sirens don't help. Just another afternoon in Los Diablos. You should be elated that you finally have what you need. Soon, there will be no turning back. Not that there ever was. Step one, complete. This was easier than I thought it would be. > I can't believe I got away with this. I still have a long way to go. I will show them all what I am capable of. That went very well, all told. We made it through Lady Argent's heist without seeming to give anything away, and we retrieved the mystery box without exposing ourself or taking unnecessary risks. We even managed to fan the flames between the Enhanced and civilian authorities! Well done, voices in my head.--- You can't believe you actually got away with this—possessing Lady Argent, of all people. You suppose it goes to show that everyone has a weak spot, even people rumored to be impervious. Still, you're lucky Ortega wasn't there…. Still, this is all fine for a day's work. An empty apartment is the only thing that greets you as you return home and peel off your clothes. The air conditioner hums and strains but keeps the bedroom as frigid as you like. It's not much, really—perfect for someone who wants to avoid notice. The pile of laundry at the foot of the bed is begging for a trip to the laundromat, but you need to catch a few hours of sleep before tonight. The bed catches you when you fall: wide enough for two, let alone your wasted frame. You surrender yourself to sleep...and into the dreams. --- Tonight, they are almost gentle, sinking deeply in the warm amniotic fluid of childhood. Tubes and cradles and goldfish faces peer down at you, distorted by glass and fluid. But the dreams shift, forever treacherous. You moan in your sleep as you turn, twisting the blankets like a straitjacket. Trapped. Trapped again. "We need to move," a familiar voice says. It belongs to someone popping their head up for a peek over the wall you are hiding behind, and withdrawing it just as fast. "Hey! Get your head out of the clouds…" …Cynthia? > No, that isn't it. What was my name, again? This is where we finish customizing our avatar. We'll get to customize other important characters within this same playthrough too, so I'll continue modeling the protagonist after myself.--- In your dreams, your name sometimes shifts and changes, but you are fairly sure it is… > Charlotte And your chosen surname is... …Basri, right? …Becerra, right? > …Becker, right? …Brown, right? …Bui, right? …No, that wasn't it. But there's a limit, and this is after all the internet. "Visibly Chinese with a very western name and an Australian accent" gets me some weird looks in real life; let's give our character an incongruous one as well.--- "Get down, Charlotte!" You obey just in time. The plasma smells like gasoline and takes half the wall with it as it hits. "We need to move," the voice urges. "Move? With him out there? Are you mad?" you ask, because you saw a blast like that hit Steel head on, melting through most of his armor. Wait, you remember who this is: your friend, your partner. You know this… > …man. …woman. We can choose the genders of certain NPCs. Anyone we can customize in this way is at least potentially a romantic interest; giving us authorial input lets us tune our avatar's sexuality if we like. For this playthrough, I've flipped a coin for each character; by chance, we ended up with a man and a woman. (You can also have the game silently randomize the choices for you, but then we wouldn't get to see the prompt.)--- "Probably," Ortega admits, with that wide, poo poo-eating grin that is a dead giveaway when he is about to do something crazy. "But that doesn't change anything; we still need to take him out. I doubt that someone calling himself Psychopathor is going to stop on his own." "You got a point there," you admit, adjusting your mask a little. It is slick with sweat. "Aren't the rest of your cavalry going to arrive soon? I thought the Rangers always got their man." "Alas my friend, the cavalry is us." Ortega doesn't wear a mask. His bronze skin is tanned a deep brown by the unforgiving Los Diablos sun, and unruly black hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. "Steel is down and out, and Anathema and Sentinel are up north helping out after the latest quake. We're spread far too thin—so when are you going to accept my invitation and join up properly?" It's not the first time he has asked you about this, but your answer is the same as always. I do not want to register as a hero. > I am not ready for the big leagues. He should tell that to Steel, who doesn't trust me. Choices made in dreams and flashbacks influence our character stats as well. I believe this middle option slightly increases our cautiousness and reduces our arrogance, but not by much.--- "I'm not ready to take on that kind of responsibility," you say with a shrug, following Ortega as he crawls along the wall, trying to find a better angle of attack. "I don't mind playing second fiddle to you." "Too bad. The health benefits are second to none," he jokes, flinching as another blast tears through the building next to him. Psychopathor is firing blind, but he's still dangerous. "I'm not the one who needs health benefits, old man," you tease, because you quickly learned that being an rear end helps when you are nervous. "Old?" Ortega huffs as he crawls along the wall, head kept carefully down. "I'm not even thirty!" "Yet…" you add with a smirk. It is one of Ortega's sore points because he is a lot older than you—not that it shows. At least, not when it comes to maturity levels. But then again, you have seen a lot in your life, things Ortega wouldn't believe even if you dared to tell him. Sometimes you wish you could. You never planned to get this close to someone, but since you met him, you discovered it was nice to have someone… …to flirt with. …to be friends with. …who would have my back in a fight. This decision lets us backfill Charlotte's relationship with Ortega back in the day. It will, of course, also have implications for the future.--- Decision time. Two votes this time: 1) Was our character flirty with Ortega back in the day, or not? 2a) If so, is she still interested? 2b) If not, was she friendly or professional? You'll notice I'm deliberately splitting up the decision. This is because I want #1 to be a two-option poll rather than risk splitting the vote. I'll do things like this from time to time. Romance Notes I've said this before, but keep in mind that no matter how we handle the romance options, they only have story effects. This isn't one of those text adventures that turns into smut later on. The romances are interesting and affect the plot. They aren't just throwaways. Romances are not mutually exclusive; going for Ortega won't lock us out of anything later on. Choose wisely. Or just make me smooch everyone, I don't care. --- Physical Status Stamina: You are rested. Willpower: You feel exhausted. Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds. Same as before here, because we haven't finished our sleep. Planting that suggestion in the officer's mind didn't tax us any further.Telepathy Strength of Mind: 60% Subtle Manipulations: 55% It did, however, improve our Subtle Manipulations! Note that these two metrics are not antagonistic; raising one doesn't lower the other.Psychological Profile Infamy: 0% ||| Obscurity: 100% Arrogance: 26% ||| Anonymity: 74% Ruthlessness: 54% ||| Empathy: 46% Daring: 58% ||| Caution: 42% There's a nice balance here, believe it or not. Infamy only increases from taking actions out in the open, so remaining at 0% is good for now. Arrogance starts at 0%, so we haven't raised it too much. For example, we didn't taunt Herald before hitting him or pause to kick him while he was down.--- 12 to 36 hours to vote on the relevant choices. Two-hour warning applies like always. Sorites fucked around with this message at 06:29 on Jan 9, 2020 |
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Jan 9, 2020 06:24
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I'm voting for a Strictly professional relationship with Ortega. Just cause.
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Jan 9, 2020 08:08
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I'd say Not flirty but friendly
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Jan 9, 2020 16:22
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SMOOCH ERRYONE
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Jan 9, 2020 16:35
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Friendly, not flirty.
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Jan 9, 2020 17:13
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Two hour warning!
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Jan 10, 2020 22:21
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Siegkrow posted:SMOOCH Trust me, it'll make the game... better.
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Jan 11, 2020 13:09
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Three votes for no-flirting versus two in favour, so that passes. Within the no-flirting options, friendly wins two-to-one. Onward! Past and Present "I'm not ready to take on that kind of responsibility," you say with a shrug, following Ortega as he crawls along the wall, trying to find a better angle of attack. "I don't mind playing second fiddle to you." "Too bad. The health benefits are second to none," he jokes, flinching as another blast tears through the building next to him. Psychopathor is firing blind, but he's still dangerous. "I'm not the one who needs health benefits, old man," you tease, because you quickly learned that being an rear end helps when you are nervous. "Old?" Ortega huffs as he crawls along the wall, head kept carefully down. "I'm not even thirty!" "Yet…" you add with a smirk. It is one of Ortega's sore points because he is a lot older than you—not that it shows. At least, not when it comes to maturity levels. But then again, you have seen a lot in your life, things Ortega wouldn't believe even if you dared to tell him. Sometimes you wish you could. You never planned to get this close to someone, but since you met him, you discovered it was nice to have someone… …to flirt with. > …to be friends with. …who would have my back in a fight. --- There's a choice in here I find stupid and have omitted.--- Just being friends is a whole lot closer than you ever expected to get to anybody—and even that makes you nervous. It's not that you don't appreciate it; it's just that you never planned for it. Things you haven't planned for are the things that usually end up getting you hurt. But in the end, it was just impossible to resist how Ortega treats you like a friend, even though he doesn't really know anything about you. If anything, he's made it clear that he respects your need for privacy. You are not used to that. Another explosion brings your scattered thoughts back into focus as the pair of you freeze in place. The shot missed, but it also blasted a huge hole in the wall where you would have been if you had kept crawling. So close, and getting closer. You're running out of time. "If you get an opening, do you think you can hurt him?" you ask, pulling out your gun. Your gun, while top of the line, is just an energy caster. You can hurt people, stun them, maybe even kill them if you ever turned the dial up to the maximum setting—but it wouldn't even tickle Psychopathor. Nothing you have done so far has been able to breach that armor. Steel was the one among you who had a shot at actually hurting the old monster. His armor is equipped with ordnance almost as heavy as Psychopathor's: the smoking hole in the old monster's shoulder is testament to that. That is also why Steel was taken down. Ortega might not be playing in the same weight class with his electric blasts, but… "I'm almost out of juice, but if I can get in close, I can short out his armor now that Steel has breached it." Ortega flexes his hands, lightning playing around them. "And I bet I can dodge faster than he can aim." "You can't," you say, shaking your head. "That plasma cannon he's lugging around doesn't rely on his reflexes alone." "What do you mean?" > I know a lot of people, and I have information from my contacts…. I'm good with tech; I recognize the design of that gun…. We've been playing it pretty self-reliant so far, but it's hard to imagine a working telepath wouldn't have a network.--- You might not have many close friends, but you have cultivated a number of useful contacts since you started your career. It's another way to stay one step ahead of everybody else, and you've heard people talk about Psychopathor's latest toy. "It's got an organic telepathic interface. The aiming mechanism is controlled by a pentacle of linked rodent brains. Telepathic rodent brains. Rats, I think." In fact, you can feel them scurrying on the edges of your mind; the only reason they haven't found your position yet is that you keep redirecting their attention. But they are growing wise to your manipulations, and you can't keep this up forever. "What?" Ortega gives you a blank look. "It can sense where you'll be before you're there," you explain, hiding your smile. "I thought that was your thing, Sidestep." Ortega is one of the few who know the secret of your martial prowess. "I don't have a 'thing,'" you protest, but the whine of the plasma cannon powering up stops you from escalating the argument. If you're going to stop Psychopathor, you have to do it now. I'm a better fighter than I am a tactician, but… I'm a better tactician than I am a fighter, but… And this is consistent with everything before. We weren't able to bring any of our own combat skills to bear as Lady Argent, after all.--- You're a good fighter, even without your telepathic advantage, but you're still baseline human in your capabilities. You win by outthinking and out-planning your opponents. Psychopathor dropped in on a fight he wasn't invited to, but thinking on your feet is what you do. You know that Ortega is counting on you to find a way to beat him. But how? The plasma cannon is far too accurate for its bulk. Ortega will risk taking major damage in the process, even if his thoughts are notoriously hard for a telepath to pick up. You, on the other hand, are far better at staying out of harm's way, but also far less likely to survive a hit. Ortega should attack on his own while I stay safely hidden, distracting the targeting array so he won't get shot. > I risk myself to draw his fire, and Ortega can wait until he has a chance for a clean attack. A quick check of our stats shows that right now, we're sitting at 58% daring. It's not so skewed that the first option is grayed out, so we could still reverse course - but what the heck. We know we survived this fight because we're around to dream about it; let's be bold! This spikes our daring up to 66%.--- "I'll draw his fire. Just wait until he's focused on me before you make your move," you caution, doubting he will listen. "Since when did I ever jump the gun?" The grin is wide and filled with confidence, and for a moment you wonder how much of it is fake. "Don't make me read you that list; we'll be here for a week. They don't call you 'Charge' just because you can throw sparkles." You close your eyes for a moment, visualizing what you need to do. "'Sparkles'…" Ortega looks like a cat who got their nose bopped. "I still think I should be…" Before Ortega has a chance to finish the sentence, you leap out from behind the building, dropping into a roll before the plasma tears into the wall where your head was a moment earlier. Score one for you. "There you are, you little poo poo!" Psychopathor bellows, swinging the cannon in your direction. Armored feet grind rubble to gravel as he strides after you, unleashing blast upon blast, and the rats keep catching up with you. You throw yourself behind a car, realizing your mistake a moment too late as the blast hits the gas tank. The vehicle goes up in a ball of flame, tossing you back like a rag doll. Your suit protects you from the worst of the shrapnel and the flames, but you are trapped beneath wreckage too heavy to move and it is crushing your leg. And the footsteps are coming closer. As is the laughter. You tear desperately at the rubble that traps you, but you can't get loose. Any second now, Ortega will appear behind Psychopathor, sending enough bioelectricity through the armored suit to fry the old monster's control systems. Any second now. But the steps keep coming closer, and you can't get loose. When did you start to imagine you had friends that would come to the rescue? When did you get so woefully naive? The sad truth is that you are a liar and a fraud, and that you are going to die. Alone. poo poo.--- Nobody hears your scream as you tear yourself free of the constricting blankets. You tumble to the floor, finally awake. A nightmare. Your skin is covered in sweat, the sheets still half wrapped around you like a shroud. But you are alive, and still free. Naivety or not, Ortega really did save you back then. You can still smell the acrid smoke coming from the fried armor and see Ortega's worried face as he freed you from the rubble. But that was years ago. You're no longer Sidestep, and Ortega is a distant memory. Playing the hero is a thing of the past. Most dreams pop like bubbles when they are confronted with reality. You know yours did. And that is why you avoid sleep when you can. The nightmares are always there to remind you. Your swing your legs over the side of the bed, unable to stand up for a moment. You know your legs would be shaking, and that would be an intolerable weakness. Better to just sit here and stare into the dark, and pretend that everything is alright. Pretend that the best times in your life aren't fodder for your nightmares. Pretend that you're still in control. No. That is not pretending. You are in control. And sometimes, that means turning into a nightmare yourself. If that is the only way to beat them. Taking a deep breath, you stand up, pleased to see that your legs and hands are steady once more. That is how it should be: Sidestep is dead, and Charlotte is just a face you wore in the past. Not who you will be in the future. Heading to the shower, you strike up a jaunty whistle, focusing on the positive. Waking up before your alarm just means you have more time to prepare for your meeting later tonight. In Los Diablos, the underworld comes to life when the normal world goes to sleep. It's a daunting prospect to function in both those worlds, but you have an ace up your sleeve. You don't bother to turn on the light in the bathroom, as showering in the dark is a remarkably peaceful experience. You need a bit of peace of mind right now. It was a risk getting this close to the Rangers this early. But they had what you needed, so there really was no choice. Lady Argent ending up in battle was not what you had planned, but at least you managed to complete your mission. That's all that counts, right? You know that is true. But still… …I feel uneasy about this course of action. …I wish I could have told them who I was. …l wish Ortega had been there so I could have beat him. > …I'm glad that Ortega wasn't there. Ortega seems like a stand-up guy, and he clearly did save us from Psychopathor back in the day. I'm glad we didn't have to super-punch him. Because we would have.--- Part of you is still grateful that Charge was not on active duty when you broke in. You know you have to face Ortega eventually, but right now you are in no way ready for it. It's all in the past, and you know you have set your mind on this course, and there's no turning back. But facing Ortega will be the biggest test of your conviction yet. There are so many fond memories there, and… No. The fact that you were once friends can't change the truth. What happened. Who you are. What he represents. You need to get that into your head and stop thinking about what could have been. How hard he would work on getting you to change your mind. To save you. However, tonight you will leave all thoughts of what has been behind you. It's time to get dressed up and get to work. The kind of work that you can't do looking like yourself…. It's not that you are bad looking, at least not with your clothes on. They made sure of that. Of course, you can't allow yourself to look too attractive either and draw another kind of attention you are not ready for. "They?" A careful reader will have noticed already that we don't seem like either a cyborg or a hero-drug survivor...On the streets, you are essentially a nobody: just another tired soul, shoulders slumped in your habitual ignore-me pose. With your past being what it is, though, you are still far too recognizable by people you want to steer clear of, especially in the Enhanced circles. If you want to have any hope of pulling this off, you need to be discreet. And that means not being yourself. If there is one thing you have learned about people, it is that there are two ways to avoid attention. The first is by doing what you do in your real body; be quiet and unremarkable so nobody will notice you. The second is to stand out, be bold, and lean into people's preconceptions. A beautiful woman with a body to die for and a face that will mix with the memories of all other beautiful women out there. A handsome man with the whitest of smiles and as forgettable as the fading warmth of his handshake. Masks. Puppets. My puppet of choice is: It is a young woman. It is a young man. --- And here it is. The reason I had to put a content warning on my original post, and the clearest marker of our avatar as a villain - regrets or no regrets. See, Charlotte has a permanent "puppet" - for which read "mind slave" - whom she uses as a kind of minion. This puppet was chosen for having a perfect combination of traits: Attractive enough not to draw too much analysis, malleable enough to permanently control, and fit enough to handle any rough business that comes up. There is no getting around this. There is no path through the game which frees the puppet. And yes, the other romantic subplot in the game is engaged in as the puppet, which is hosed up in a number of different ways. With all that being said: This puppet will be designed by the thread. You can vote in one of two ways: a) Describe him or her using the same parameters as I used in character creation: Gender presentation, gender identity, apparent ethnicity, eye colour, hair colour, hair character, and hair style; or b) Post a fictional character for me to duplicate. This character must never have been physically portrayed by a human actor (voice actors are fine); I'd be too creeped out if you said "Superman" and I had to imagine myself (Charlotte) mind-controlling Henry Cavill. I'll pick an eligible suggestion at random once the period ends. 24 to 48 hours, with the usual warning. --- Our stats have not changed significantly, except that our Daring:Caution is now 66:34 instead of 58:42. Sorites fucked around with this message at 01:17 on Jan 16, 2020 |
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Jan 11, 2020 18:29
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can we create a cypher of a person? androgynous looking, non binary of mixed heritage?
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Jan 11, 2020 21:42
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By popular demand posted:can we create a cypher of a person? androgynous looking, non binary of mixed heritage? We could have for our main character, but not for the puppet. The puppet's role is to front for us in various contexts and has to be conventionally attractive to as many people as possible. This requires a bit of playing into mainstream ideals.
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Jan 12, 2020 01:04
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I'm sad that this thread doesn't get more attention, doubly so because I have no idea for the puppet beyond "a man in black"
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Jan 13, 2020 06:53
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Hrm. Nothing for A coming to mind, so how about B) a Snowflame lookalike? People might somehow remember the villain, but who would remember the villains innocuous lookalike?
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Jan 13, 2020 09:23
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I pick Option A: Gender presentation: Female Gender identity: Female Apparent ethnicity: Caucasian Eye colour: Brown Hair colour: Brown Hair character: Straight Hair style: Shoulder-length Basically, as close to 'stereotypically innocuous' as we can get.
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Jan 13, 2020 09:31
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Arcanuse posted:Hrm. Nothing for A coming to mind, so how about B) a Snowflame lookalike? People might somehow remember the villain, but who would remember the villains innocuous lookalike? Supporting this, for the novelty of having totally-not-Snowflame as our puppet.
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Jan 13, 2020 15:04
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Glad for this thread, I grabbed the game on IOS and it was a nice read and a fun way to kill an hour or so. even if it can get pretty hosed up in some ways. Looking forward to how the thread plays it.
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Jan 13, 2020 15:26
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Two hour warning! I'll resolve this decision by rolling an appropriately sized die. Supports for a suggestion will give it an extra face on the die, but I don't like leaving character design to a straightforward vote because it might deter less 'electable' suggestions and I'm curious what people are interested in. So far there's one vote for an innocuous brunette, one for a man in black, and two for a Snowflame lookalike. So that's a d4 at the moment.
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Jan 13, 2020 17:17
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Big, Black, Handsome Man.
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Jan 13, 2020 17:24
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But does he wear black?
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Jan 13, 2020 18:16
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At the end of the puppet-design suggestions, we have a total of five entries (one being a support of another). Taking the posts in the order they came, random.org gives us... CommissarMega's suggestion! CommissarMega posted:I pick Option A: Jane Part of you is still grateful that Charge was not on active duty when you broke in. You know you have to face Ortega eventually, but right now you are in no way ready for it. It's all in the past, and you know you have set your mind on this course, and there's no turning back. But facing Ortega will be the biggest test of your conviction yet. There are so many fond memories there, and… No. The fact that you were once friends can't change the truth. What happened. Who you are. What he represents. You need to get that into your head and stop thinking about what could have been. How hard he would work on getting you to change your mind. To save you. However, tonight you will leave all thoughts of what has been behind you. It's time to get dressed up and get to work. The kind of work that you can't do looking like yourself…. It's not that you are bad looking, at least not with your clothes on. They made sure of that. Of course, you can't allow yourself to look too attractive either and draw another kind of attention you are not ready for. On the streets, you are essentially a nobody: just another tired soul, shoulders slumped in your habitual ignore-me pose. With your past being what it is, though, you are still far too recognizable by people you want to steer clear of, especially in the Enhanced circles. If you want to have any hope of pulling this off, you need to be discreet. And that means not being yourself. If there is one thing you have learned about people, it is that there are two ways to avoid attention. The first is by doing what you do in your real body; be quiet and unremarkable so nobody will notice you. The second is to stand out, be bold, and lean into people's preconceptions. A beautiful woman with a body to die for and a face that will mix with the memories of all other beautiful women out there. A handsome man with the whitest of smiles and as forgettable as the fading warmth of his handshake. Masks. Puppets. My puppet of choice is: > It is a young woman. It is a young man. --- While possessing random strangers is safer, for some tasks you need a recurring face—someone who can be remembered, build relations, and talk to people who would be too risky to approach in your own body. That is why you built an identity for your puppet, including a fake name… …Yasmin. I named her after the doll. > …Jane. She's a Jane Doe, after all. …Eden. It suits her. …I named her… We can enter a custom name, but the concept is "maximally innocuous" and Jane fits that bill just fine.--- It was about two years ago that you found Jane languishing in a hospital, catatonic and comatose. You have an agreement of sorts: you use her empty body, and in return she doesn't waste away in a hospital bed. Not that she has signed any papers. It's been years, and you've yet to find any trace of thoughts or a personality in there. Her mind is gone for good, so you doubt she'd mind if you helped yourself to her leftovers. This is a...questionable...moral justification. I have to admit, if 'Jane' has no family then I almost struggle to see the harm here? But at the same time, the idea is just repugnant.To keep your two identities separate, you got her an apartment of her own. Though it is a bit of a risk, it sits right on top of your own because to truly slip into someone's mind (or lack of it) and possess them, you need to be close. Close enough to single out their thoughts from the hive that is humanity. That used to be the case. While it still is true for your other victims, slipping into Jane is as comfortable as slipping into an old pair of jeans. With the amount of practice you have had, you've managed to possess her from miles away—though that leaves your original body defenseless if you leave it resting somewhere else. There was not much of a selection of comatose bodies, so you picked her mostly for convenience. That she looks good is an added bonus, and was what made you decide to lean into it to make her a better mask. She is short and curvy. > She is tall and elegant. I admit I forgot to poll this choice, so instead I'm running with it. Since the puppet is our 'front' person, a bit of physical presence wouldn't go amiss in case there's violence to be done.--- Jane is tall and elegant, with a determined nose and legs that are flattered by the dresses you buy for her with stolen money. You made her name up because you don't care what her real name was, and neither does she. She was listed as a Jane Doe in the hospital records, no known next of kin. Very handy. You're not sure what her origins are, except that she can pass for white, which is handy. Sometimes you think there's an Eastern European hint in her jawline; at other times you could swear the nose is British. You're not sure what the difference is in pure looks: devoid of name and language, everything gets muddled. You don't even know whether she is American or an immigrant. If she was a foreigner, that would explain the lack of relatives. Her eyes are a warm brown that you're rather fond of. It makes you more trusting, somehow; at least, that's what you like to believe. Her hair is brown and straight, and you don't really care too much what kind of a haircut she has. This is easy enough to care for; you cut it when it becomes long enough to be annoying, and that's it. --- You have a system set up. During the day, you go about your normal life as Charlotte. You pay bills. You shop. You plan. You steal money. But by nightfall, you lay your own body down to sleep and slip into Jane's empty form. You go swimming to keep the inactive muscles in shape, and take her shopping to make sure she looks her best for your purposes. And you wear her to Joes. Joes (no apostrophe) is a bar with a difference. There are bars like it all over the coast. Some are pretentious and call themselves things like Darkside, or the Black Hole. But most are like Joes, discreet and quiet, unwilling to draw too much attention to what goes on inside. To all appearances, Joes is a seedy bar in a seedy district, a place you go to get drunk and not much else. It's not a friendly place, and few but the regulars stay there for long. I think I audibly sighed with relief when the author didn't go for "hive of scum and villainy" like a lot of two-bit hacks (which this author isn't, to be clear!) might have at this moment. Ironically trite is still trite.Joe, which really is the name of the owner, tends to hire the scariest down-and-outs he can find to keep strangers from lingering, and it works. There are far better places for a drink within walking distance. Unless you're bad. Unless you're Enhanced. Unless you've got the right contacts. Because then, the door at the back will open and reveal the real Joes, securely concealed beneath a layer of scramblers thick enough to fool any uninvited guests. The security measures are another reason you take Jane to Joes. Scramblers like that always leave you with a headache that will plague you for days—not to mention the fact that Joes has telepathic dampeners and those remove your best weapon. Most of these bars don't have them, but the places that do are where the smart people go. The ones who need to keep their secrets. The ones you need to talk to. You've heard rumors that Joe was once a villain himself on the East Coast, going by the name of 'Joe Average,' before coming here to retire and run a bar. If that's true, that's saying something, since they are a lot harsher towards any kind of villain back there. Note to self: Any villain who can make it outside the Free Economic Zone is not to be messed with under any circumstances.So tonight, you are safe and secure in your puppet's non-powered body, your telepathic talents busy driving her. You have nothing to conceal, no powers to dampen, and the scanners flash a pleasant green as you nod politely to the guard at the door. "How's the crowd tonight?" you ask, smiling a little. You try to keep the guards on your good side; it never pays to antagonize the staff. "Quiet," the man says with a shrug. "Hopefully it stays that way." "Here's hoping," you say, walking inside with a confident wave. Never let anyone know you might be feeling out of your depth, especially in a place like this. The door slams shut. --- The smell hits you first; the smoke from dozens of cigarettes blankets the area. The sweet and spicy undertones tell you that not all of them are tobacco, but that is to be expected. At least it hides the chemical smell of active enhancements and unwashed bodies. Joe's choice of music tends to be eclectic, though if there are any of his favorite customers around, he might cater to their wishes. Right now, there's a particularly nostalgic piece of soft jazz that, for some reason, makes you feel ill at ease. You can't remember why, and you can't let it bother you either. The music is as irrelevant as the soft bluish lighting, or the way a handful of faces turns towards you as you enter. You give a nod of greeting to the ones you recognize, checking the others to see if any of them seem inclined to start any trouble. It doesn't look that way, but you can't be sure. You are not a telepath when you possess Jane. How do you feel about that? > I hate the loss of my telepathy. I don't like it, but it can be handy. I like taking a break from my telepathy now and then. I don't think this choice affects our attributes. The first option seems most in line with our relatively free use of power so far.--- You hate being head blind; it makes you feel cut off from the world. Maybe it can be a bit burdensome at times to have the constant chatter of humanity surrounding you, but you feel naked without it. How can you know whether people are telling the truth? What if they were plotting against you? What if someone wanted to jump you? People are just masks to you in this body, blank faces you feel are hopeless to read. Still, you have to endure. You don't know how many old jokes begin with 'a pretty woman walks into a bar,' and Jane fits some of the worst stereotypes. Even so, you have to say you are getting used to being this pretty. Attractive women do get treated differently, and by now, you are as familiar with her body as you are with your own. It took practice, but you have the gait, and you have the smile. And by now, you have the reputation. But that wasn't always the case. And since Jane is neither Enhanced, nor working for a well-known villain, you needed to have an in. For you, that person was… …a Boosted hench called Rosie. > …a Modded mercenary called Boris. Our Daring exceeds our Caution, so I think we'd get along better with someone who didn't play 5%-to-live Russian Roulette for a chance at powers. Boris seems more reliable.--- Boris "call me Bo" is neither Russian, nor a member of the mob. Instead, he makes his living as a driver of everything from illegal goods to getaway cars. He is technically a Mod, but his enhancements were never about beating people up. They were a product of his great interest in cars, augmenting his driving skills in various ways. He often jokes that his job is the only way he can afford his implants, and if he hadn't been kicked out of the military he would still be on the straight and narrow. Since he hires out his services to so many different groups, he is a good source of rumors in the criminal underground. It's still too early for a full house, but there are enough people milling around to provide good camouflage for your business here. You recognize a lot of the regulars, and a cursory scan of the floor doesn't show any suspicious people. Even if you don't have access to your telepathy, your training has given you a feeling for when people are behaving in odd ways. "Jane!" The cry from the bar is filled with drunken affection, which makes you turn towards it with a smile instead of a scowl. Speak of the devil: it's Bo, and despite the early hour, he is more than a little sloshed. Either he just got a job or just got paid because his smile is too big for him to be drowning his sorrows. "Bo," you reply with a nod and a sketched salute. Over this last year, you have… > …kept our relationship strictly professional, with me as boss. …kept my distance as much as I can. I don't need friends. …almost become friends. Jane's body isn't ours as such, but there's no sense being careless. When we're being Jane our powers won't work, so it's important to play it safe. Besides, seeming too involved with the goons might make us look 'taken' - and distasteful though it is, seduction can be almost as powerful as telepathy.--- "You're here early," Bo says, once you get close enough so he doesn't have to shout. "I hope you didn't need me sober for anything." "You keep having fun; I've got another appointment right now." You know you're probably sounding a bit abrupt, but you do have your meeting. You're already running late, and while being early speaks of being too eager, being too late is just rude. "See, this is why I'm comfortable working for others." Bo chuckles a little and takes a swig of beer. "Leaves me more time to have fun." "I think I've grown out of the habit of having fun." Your shrug is near imperceptible, but his words hit a little too close. It is easier to be a follower, but maybe that's why you can't stand it. You've seen what happens to people who are. "Speaking of which," Bo says with a wide grin. "Thanks for the tip about the WolfPack. Got a gig with them, hence the celebration." "I figured as much." Your smile is a knowing one because you've got your own reasons for knowing about the WolfPack. Having Bo work for them will come in handy later. "Have one for me too, okay?" You have no doubt that Bo will have one for you, and most likely several. It still feels so odd to interact with people at length in your puppet body. Casual conversation is one thing, but to have to keep the act up over a period of weeks and months can be both liberating and exhausting. Not that you had ever liked looking at yourself in the mirror, but having someone else look back was an entirely different experience. Looking around, you head towards the back of the bar where the booths are. That's where Dr. Mortum should be, the scientist you're looking for. This is the last NPC whose gender we can pick. She rolled up as female (I manually randomized it), which is fine by me; it leaves plenty of difference between Ortega in the one world and Mortum in the other.She is the woman you need right now, like it or not, and you unconsciously straighten your back as you make your way to her usual booth. You are not sure whether Dr. Mortum has a private arrangement on the side, or whether she's just here early enough to be able to pick and choose. "Ah, good evening, mademoiselle." Dr. Mortum bows slightly, her rich black skin a stark contrast to the white coat. The orange shirt underneath makes a bold, neon statement. Where the good doctor is really from is a matter of heated debate: you have heard everything from Canada to Haiti to New Orleans suggested, but she keeps the truth as hidden as her real name. What turned her down the road of the evil genius you doubt you will ever know; everybody has their own story, of interest to nobody but themselves. Still, her degree is legit, and her mind is as sound as her manners—far better than the French accent you suspect might be an affectation. And, unlike many others in her business, she showers, dresses smartly, and takes you seriously, even though you suspect she wants to crawl into bed with you. > I encourage the flirting; it makes things more interesting. This is just business. This doesn't have to mean anything yet, but since we did just spend all that time customizing our puppet we might as well play this game to win.--- "I have what you asked for," you say with the sweetest of smiles, crossing your legs to make sure the slit in your skirt reveals just the right amount of stocking. You suppose some might say you are insecure about your normal body, dressing up like this, but it's an act you've actually come to enjoy. Sometimes it feels nice to show a little skin. You look around the darkened room. The booths in this section offer a certain amount of privacy, and at this time on a Tuesday night, everybody is at the bar. It is a simple act to reach into your ridiculously expensive handbag and slide the heavy black box over to her. Dr. Mortum's hands almost tremble as she connects the thin cable of a codebreaker to the lock. Diodes flash from red to green, and the box slides open with a serpentine hiss. There is no smell you can perceive, which is a little surprising considering the thin mist that seeps out. "Do you have any idea what you truly have here?" she asks reverently. "As long as they work, I don't care," you say, shrugging a little. You don't know the details, but you know enough to know how useful they might be. "Oh, this is something brilliantly dangerous." Dr. Mortum digs around in her pocket for a scanner, running it in slow circles over the small, roundish void-cage that was resting in the box, held safe by formfitting memory foam. "It is a colony of fully functional nanomachines—forbidden technology of the blackest kind." "I knew that bit," you protest. That was the reason why you stole it. But Dr. Mortum has no interest in listening. Instead, she continues almost reverently, "Such nasty little nanovores, ma chérie; they must have come from the battlefields of the Gulf. To possess just this small sample is a crime against humanity. Wherever did you find such a thing?" "That is my business, and you know it." Your smile reveals nothing, and you sip your drink for good measure. She doesn't need to know that story. It's ancient history. --- Almost a decade ago, you helped contain one of the largest nanostrikes on American soil, as a would-be conqueror fell victim to his own scheme. It took everything you had to tap into the rudimentary mind that controlled the swarm, holding it in place long enough for the Rangers of the day to destroy them. A small sample was captured and kept, held secure in a void-cage, rendered inert. The hope was to develop a countermeasure in case the wars of the Gulf grew to encompass the world. With the arrival of peace and the ban on nano research, it had been left on a dusty shelf in the secure storage facility of the Rangers headquarters. "I suppose it does not matter," she says, but from the look on her face she is already adding things up. She is bound to guess that this has something to do with the recent downtown battle. She is not a foolish woman, but luckily, she is not a scrupulous one either. "You think they're possible to reprogram, then? Could they attack inorganic instead of organic matter?" You need a weapon of war, not of murder. "The parameters should already be in place inside them; it is only a matter of finding and adjusting the settings. I do not traffic in failure, ma chérie. To control them is going to be the challenge." "I know. I still need to pick those parts up." "If you can procure what you have promised, this is going to be a work of art. Perfection," she exclaims, with a loving look at the nondescript container. You find it amusing that, when faced between the choice of technology or cleavage, she goes for technology every time. That is the reason why most mad scientists are single, you suppose; if you devote your life to science, there is little room for anything else. "And it will work according to my specifications?" you ask, leaning forward a little and running a red-nailed finger along the rim of your glass. You have caught her attention again, the mouse once more transfixed by the snake. You take a moment to sip your drink, and her eyes follow from hand to lips. Sucker. "It will surpass your wildest expectations, ma chérie." She kisses the hand you hold out for her, and you smile again to suppress the shiver down your spine. "Four weeks from now, and it will be ready for testing. If you deliver what you have promised in time." Uh-oh. I don't know whether Jane's biological reactions are feeding back to us or whether we're starting to fall for this mad science nerd, but this could be a problem. (I'd have put Dr. Mortum to a vote if we already had a romance with Ortega, but I didn't want the first playthrough to miss out on these elements entirely.)Your frown must have registered because she quickly continues, "It is impossible to get done sooner. On my honor." You sigh and empty your drink. "I will hold you to that promise, Doctor. I am on a schedule here as well." You allow yourself to look worried; you know that she already suspects you are a go-between for somebody else. Perhaps someone with a limited patience. Perhaps you might get hurt if she delays. But the truth is that you do have a deadline. Every villain needs a grand plan, and you are no different in that respect. Some traditions are worth upholding. Dun dun dunnnn!! ...okay fine we all know Charlotte's up to no good. Let me have this.--- Two Weeks Later You never thought it would come to this. When you drafted your plans, this part was always the bit you glossed over. Ignored, in the hope that it might somehow resolve itself once you got there. Working up the guts to possess one of the Rangers and walking into the lion's den to steal one of their darkest secrets was easy compared to what you are about to do now. This goes against every single rule you've set for yourself to stay safe. In fact, you don't think you have done anything this stupid since the Heartbreak incident…. Exactly what you do not need to be thinking about right now. The phone feels like a dead weight in your hand. It's stolen, of course, hijacked along with the body you are wearing. The body belongs to a truck driver who moonlights for one of the less legit freight businesses in town, but it could have been anybody who had a phone with a cash-card that wasn't tied to some form of personal ID. It just couldn't be you—they would know. Of that, you are sure. Time to give them a call. --- After a moment of hesitation, you punch in the number with surprisingly steady fingers. Even after all this time, you know it by heart. "Yes?" The voice at the other end is cool, polite, and familiar, and your hand starts shaking despite your attempts to stay calm. Hell. Why couldn't it have been a stranger? "You…" You force yourself to swallow the nervous cracks threatening to break your voice into shrill splinters. "You can find Psychopathor in Warehouse 34B down at the southern docks." It is not your voice. There is no way they could know. "Who are you, and how did you get this number?" There's a reactive flinch from you as you hear the familiar tone harden. But it's on the other side of a phone, and you are beyond reach. "Never mind that." You try to sound bland and matter-of-fact. This is being recorded; you need to leave no clues. "The important thing is that he won't be expecting you." "Wait, wh—" You hang up in the middle of the sentence, your thumb making the decision for you. You can't. You just can't. It will have to be enough. Your hand is shaking, your thumb still pressed hard against the screen. You don't want to remember this. Especially not right now. It's in the past, water under the bridge and all that. You don't want to remember—but the problem with things like this is that the more you think about not thinking about it, the more it comes crawling back to haunt you. Maybe you shouldn't have done this. Maybe you should have played it safe. But it's too late now. Forcing your hand to unclench, you drop the phone to the ground, crushing it under your heel before you kick the remains over the side of the pier into the water below. The call wouldn't have lasted long enough for them to trace. At least, you hope that is still the case. Taking one final, deep breath of the damp harbor air, you leave your host with a memory of dropping the phone into the water; a moment of fumbling inattention leading to loss and frustration. By then, you are already busy throwing up, back in your own body. --- The bottle of water is enough to rinse the taste of vomit out of your mouth, but your hands are still shaking as you curl up and wait. It would have to be them. Not many others could hope to bring down a monster like Psychopathor. Sure, you fought him back when you ran with the Rangers, but nearly a decade has passed since then, and he has not been idle. If you tried the stunt today that you did last time with Ortega, you both would be dead. Luckily, you are not the woman you were either. Otherwise, you would never have stooped to this. To using them…. Them… In a world filled with Enhanced people, some things are still more taboo than others. Be they Boosts or Mods, all the Enhanced are human at the core, no matter how wildly they have deviated from their origins. Not so the Re-Genes. Like robotic constructs, Re-Genes are created, not born. They are subject to none of the rights of a proper human being. Like stem cell clones, they are supposedly mindless, just a body to strip for parts with no soul to fill it. Human ingenuity might have enabled the GeniTech Corporation to reconstruct humanoid beings from the ground up. But giving them a mind, much less a soul? That is impossible. Circumventing this limitation, the Re-Genes that the Special Directive employ as weapons are outfitted with artificial minds: advanced AIs that can mimic the acts of people, but aren't truly alive. Or so the story goes. The Re-Genes are put in distinctive uniforms, their faces and bodies covered with bright tattoos, marking them for the tools they are. These warning signs are there to make people keep their distance, as the powers involved are often much more dangerous than what normal Boosts could wield and survive. They also make it impossible to confuse Re-Genes with a normal human, especially when combined with their distinctive blue-gray skin. Always a controversial presence, most of the Re-Genes are used in the wars abroad. But several teams always remain on US soil, ready to be put to use should the Special Directive require it. Like now. Because you called them in…. Your hands are still shaking. Shivering a little, you put them in your armpits to try to warm them up as you wait. You wish you could just let your mind go blank and settle into your usual, patient routine. Not this time though; right now your mind just keeps churning, a hornet's nest of anxiety. > It was that voice…too many bad memories. This plan has too many moving parts for my liking. Bringing in the Special Directive risks shining the spotlight on me. I wish Ortega was here. Whoever we are, and whatever our background, it's involved with the shadowy group we gave that anonymous tip. I'm sure we'll pay for this in some way later, and it doesn't sound like good times.--- You can't help but think back to that phone call. There weren't that many words said; could you have been mistaken? Maybe it was a perfect stranger answering the phone…. No, it wasn't. You're sure of it. Your body knew that voice, the dry politeness of it, the way it dropped an octave as… You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. It doesn't matter who it was. It doesn't matter because there was no way that they could recognize you. Nothing to give you away. They can't touch you anymore. You try not to remember that you thought that was true once before. You try not to remember that you thought you were free, that you had started a new life, well beyond their reach. You try not to remember….seven years ago. --- Physical Status Stamina: You are rested. Willpower: You feel calm. Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds. Telepathy Strength of Mind: 60% Subtle Manipulations: 55% Psychological Profile Infamy: 0% ||| Obscurity: 100% Arrogance: 26% ||| Anonymity: 74% Ruthlessness: 54% ||| Empathy: 46% Daring: 66% ||| Caution: 34% Main Puppet Name: Jane Puppet Status: Fine. Allies and Enemies Jane's relationship with Dr. Mortum: flirting. Jane now appears on our stat sheet, as does our first NPC relationship. Apart from that, nothing unexpected; we've regained all our energy and are in good condition.--- This vote is a bit different. We're about to go into two consecutive action sequences - one in a flashback, and another in the real world. These will involve many, many decisions about how we go about our operations, both as a hero and as a fledgling villain. And the choices matter a lot; for the first time, there are objectively bad answers which will cost us. It's also possible to ace the sequences and really show prowess. This first time through, rather than pausing the action every few pages for a referendum on each choice I'll ask you three questions. Each question will have its own separate winner, so you might back the winning option in some but lose out in others. The winning answers will guide my gameplay. Question One: If a mugger were to attack Charlotte, would her first option be a physical one or a psychic attack? Question Two: In a confrontation, does Charlotte prioritize self-preservation or winning? Question Three: Is Charlotte a team player, or is she prepared to sacrifice pawns to get an advantage? 24 to 48 hours; usual two-hour warning applies.
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Jan 14, 2020 01:44
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Sorites posted:Question One: If a mugger were to attack Charlotte, would her first option be a physical one or a psychic attack? 1) I want to say that if it's just a mugger, don't waste the good mental juice, and just cast Fist instead. However, being able to use overwhelming psychic power on reflex seems, I dunno... like something a smart psychic super would do? 2) We're a winner. 3) And being willing to sacrifice pawns helps you win more! On a side note, the RNG steered you away from it, but am I wrong in thinking it'd be odd to willingly induce gender dysphoria in yourself?
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Jan 14, 2020 05:48
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booksnake posted:On a side note, the RNG steered you away from it, but am I wrong in thinking it'd be odd to willingly induce gender dysphoria in yourself? There are actually additional pages that you only get if you picked "I'm comfortable in my own body", but then a different-gendered puppet. A common therapeutic intervention for irremediable bodily dysphorias - for example, in the aftermath of an amputation or disfigurement, or for a dissociative alter who isn't comfortable in the host's body - is teaching you to view the body as a "disguise" you wear, with your true self underneath. For our telepath, that's just about literally true - so I reckon we'd be fine regardless. Sorites fucked around with this message at 06:00 on Jan 14, 2020 |
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Jan 14, 2020 05:56
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Get physical first, we're trying to keep a low profile. Winning isn't everything, Winning is the only thing! E: also sacrifice pawns By popular demand fucked around with this message at 08:35 on Jan 14, 2020 |
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Jan 14, 2020 08:15
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Sorites posted:Question One: If a mugger were to attack Charlotte, would her first option be a physical one or a psychic attack?
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Jan 14, 2020 08:27
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Question OneA physical response. From her history, she already did a lot of physical combat with the psychic part just letting her know when to dodge and such. Acting on reflex, I'd almost think she'd default to doing that kind of thing again. Question Two: Again, with the flashback with Psychopather, she did something dangerous and risked herself to secure victory. Question Three: Sacrifice Pawns. She's showing a lot more ruthlessness when she's actually planning things out.
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Jan 14, 2020 10:29
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| # ? May 3, 2024 11:38 |
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Two hour warning! Everyone voted to prioritize victory and sacrifice pawns, but we're tied on physical vs psychic in a serious but non-emergency situation. That's fine as an outcome and I can work with it, so no worries, but if you want to break that tie then now's your chance.
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#
?
Jan 15, 2020 17:47
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