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LET'S KINDLE THIS BONFIRE 
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Feb 6, 2020 07:32
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| # ? May 3, 2024 05:05 |
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Gym-Rat Buddies. Too sentimental to break it off entirely; engaging in a full romance would only lead to more hurt. Bluntly, the cognitive dissonance from pushing Ortega away in person while bringing him closer to the puppet will almost certainly be strenuous to our characters mental health; likely coming back to haunt us. Even "friendship" is pushing it, but is easier to justify as necessary, or at least too risky to suddenly break off outright.
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Feb 6, 2020 08:33
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Option 2, gym-rats. While breaking things off in person was necessary, Jane may still be able to learn more - or possibly even use the hurt he almost certainly feels to push him one way or another
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Feb 6, 2020 10:36
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Should we really get too attached to Jane if we're talking about mental strain? Perhaps it'd be better to see her as a tool and use her to seduce information/create weakness in Ortega. We're a villain and we need to accept that at some stage. 3
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Feb 6, 2020 10:46
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Gym-rat. If we break it off so suddenly after our fight, he may put 2 and 2 together, while starting a romance would be bad for the same reason having any relationship using the meat puppet would be bad.
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Feb 6, 2020 12:53
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I think the poll is at least competitive enough to justify a two hour warning at this point.
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Feb 7, 2020 18:02
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It's A Date Three Days Later The gym smells of sweat and testosterone, but it's still a relief to be able to punch something and get your tension out. Sweat a bit. Not have to worry about being presentable. Normally you could lose yourself in the loneliness of repetition and adrenaline, but right now you still have a mask to keep up. You're not alone here, after all. And therein lies the problem. "Harder!" Ortega holds the pads without effort, and you know that no matter how hard you punch, he won't really notice. Your lungs are burning, and you have lost your smile; you try to put your whole weight into each blow. Left. Right. Weave. Remember to breathe. It would be easier if you could quiet your mind and just be in the moment, but Ortega has a way of keeping you off-balance that's starting to get annoying. I am used to having a different body when training with him, so my timing is off. > I keep thinking I'm Charlotte rather than Jane, which makes talking a bit risky. Being sweaty and half-undressed together is a bit distracting.  Having two parallel but different relationships with Ortega isn't easy, even for a career telepath.--- You should never have taken him up on his offer to train together, but you went back, and you said yes. And now you are sweating through your tank top, trying to remember how to breathe when you punch something. At least as long as you punch you don't have to talk, which feels more and more like a blessing. It's hard to keep up the act around Ortega, and you wish you knew if you were doing a good job. But inside your puppet, you're even blinder than normal to his reactions, so you just have to play it by ear. That, and try to keep your stories straight. It's almost a bit frightening, the way that your puppet reacts whenever the man flashes you a brilliant grin. You'd never really had Ortega use that smile on you before. Only on other people. You suppose technically you are 'other people' now, but it still feels like a blow to the gut. And those are the very feelings that make it so important to keep yourself in control and not slip up. But you don't have too much time to be bothered about these things. The clock is ticking, and right now there are just three days left. Three days. Three days until the gala opening of the Museum. Three days of trying to make yourself feel at peace again, to accept your decision. Three days until your new face is plastered all over the front page. Just three days left, and you count your punches, one, two, three, and you miss and stumble out off-balance. And Ortega catches you before you fall. Of course he does. "You did that on purpose," you gasp, shrugging free from his arms, painfully aware that he smells of sweat and so do you. He doesn’t cop a feel, though; you have to give him that. "I did," he confesses with a wide and easy smile, raising the pads once more. One on each hand, to teach you precision, since power is not your thing. "You were off-balance. Do that in a fight, and you will end up on the ground." You scoff and raise your gloves again in a challenge. "So my enemies won’t be gentlemanly enough to catch me if I fall?" He does not know the irony of that statement, but maybe he will. Soon. You bet he will feel foolish. Ortega relaxes for a moment, laughing a little at your joke, even though he cannot get the punchline. > I'll teach him not to let his guard down. I'll play nice for now. One of the only reasons it's worth maintaining this charade is to try and learn something - anything - about Ortega's current abilities. Let's try to push him a little.--- With the faintest of evil smirks, you take advantage of the moment and drive a fist past the pad and into his stomach. He hadn’t expected that, but it’s still like hitting a brick wall. You've forgotten how much of his body is actually metal underneath the skin. He gasps a little, and that’s that. "Oops." You smile at him. "I missed." "I thought we were playing nice," he chuckles, rubbing his stomach. You simply raise your gloves again, smiling back, a spider to his fly. "Maybe I’m not a nice girl." You hit his pads again, pleased that even if you have no strength to speak of in this body, Jane is at least fast. "Maybe you should consider that, mister superhero." "Ah." Ortega's face falls a little. "So you do know who I am." He looks so awkward there, a big man in gym clothes with his tousled hair and furrowed brow. Had he really thought people wouldn’t make the connection? Hell, but he's naive at times. "Of course I do. It’s not like you’re wearing a mask." You reach for the water bottle, hands clumsy in the gloves. "I didn't…" He hesitates a little, so obviously unsure how to act. I can't help it. I'll tease him a little. > I'll play nice. Well, that didn't get us anywhere.--- "It's alright, I won't run and hide just because you happen to have superpowers." You try on a smile and hope it comes across as friendly, and not with too much Charlotte in it. "That's good to hear, and I'm sorry it never came up before. I wasn't trying to deceive you." "I'm sorry." You find yourself apologizing because it's the right thing to do. For Jane. Not that you care. "I just didn't know it was supposed to be a secret." "It's not, I suppose." Ortega smiles a little sadly, picking up his own water bottle. "It's just nice to remain anonymous sometimes. People treat you differently when they know who you are." "I guess that's true." You have to force the shrug, but it is there. "I wouldn't know." You are proud of yourself for managing to keep your face straight. In the quiet little moment while you both catch your breath, you ponder your options. You are sure Ortega is going to the benefit gala at the museum; a former marshal is exactly the kind of guest they want. You also know he really wants to take you out to dinner, as he's alluded to it before. Should you take him up on that offer? You need to get Jane inside for your plan to work, and this way, you would not have to bother with scamming a ticket on your own. There would also be less suspicion cast your way, since you would have a legitimate reason to be there. And you would be able to keep an eye on Ortega, so he doesn't do anything you haven't prepared for. Your other option is, of course, to just use your powers and steal a ticket. You are unlikely to be found out in the resulting chaos. But there is a bigger risk of something happening to your puppet, since you won't have Ortega to guard her. I will manipulate Ortega into asking me out on a date. No date—I am doing this on my own. > Dr. Mortum is also interested in Jane and could most likely get a ticket; I'll try her instead. While it would be convenient to leave our puppet under a cape's protection, a relationship with Ortega could create problems. Dr. Mortum can get us in without us having to take any chances as Charlotte.--- "So, does this change things between us?" Ortega sounds a bit cautious as he raises the subject, and you're glad you decided not to take this further. Flirting is a useful tool, but pulling him in deep would be wrong. You wouldn't mind taking him down to further your goals, but oddly, the thought of hurting his feelings makes you uncomfortable. "I don't know, but I have to admit this was fun," you say with a smile. You actually did enjoy this. "I won't tell you 'I told you so,' but I did." Ortega stretches a little, not trying very hard to hide the smile on his lips. "It's not really something that I'm used to." You flex your arms as well, frowning a little. This is a fine line to walk, and you need to focus on tactics, not what Ortega is feeling. "Having fun?" "Being sore." "I'm sorry. I didn't…" "Know your own strength?" You can't stop the fond smile from showing. "I suppose." There comes that awkward shrug that you know so well, but it doesn't matter because you have to move on now. This is business, nothing else. You'd better get on with it. > I'll keep things safe; no dating, just working out together. I'll keep flirting—that could still come in handy later. I'll keep things friendly, maybe meeting up now and then. I'll use this as an excuse to break things off with Ortega. So that's that. We don't really have a use for Ortega anymore; let's just keep things status quo to avoid any suspicion. Charlotte and Jane both cutting him off in the same week might be suspicious, but there's no reason to take things further either.--- "Come on, don't look so glum." You smile a little to reinforce your words. "If you want to keep working out together, I can handle it." "Really?" The smile is painfully obvious. "I'll try not to be too rough." "Honestly? Sometimes it helps to be pushed a little." That is the truth: you need Jane to stay in shape, and Ortega is a safe-ish outlet for your frustrations as long as you don't let it get out of hand. "Besides, now I have an excuse when I lose." "It's not a competition, you know." "Isn't life?" You don't smile at his naivety, even though you want to. "In that case, I've lost already. Made way too many mistakes for a lifetime." Ortega looks down for a moment, sighing a little. "It's a lot harder to fix them than to avoid making new ones in the future. I'm glad I didn't scare you off." "I don't scare easily." "I can see that." There's that smile again on his face—time to end this, before things get out of hand. "So, same time next week then?" By then, you will have made your debut to the world, and everything will have changed. "Sure—take care, Jane." You can finally let your triumphant smile out once you have turned your back on him after a handshake. Tomorrow, you will meet Dr. Mortum to finalize the payment, now that the suit has been tested and approved. That will be a good time to bring up the possibility of a date. > I will try to get Dr. Mortum to take me. No, I will go alone. --- The Next Day By the next day, you have talked yourself into believing that the way you handled Jane and Ortega was for the best. It shouldn't concern you this much, but there are so many variables right now that you have to be very careful to make the right choices. Back when you started to plan this whole charade, Ortega wasn't even supposed to be involved as anything other than a victim. He wasn't supposed to have a starring role. But you have to play the hand that you are dealt. Like with Dr. Mortum. Arranging the final payment for the suit is a mundane affair that normally would have been over in half an hour. There's a surprising amount of paperwork for an illegal transaction, but since none of it will see the outside of Dr. Mortum's office, you're not concerned. Your tracks are clean and do not lead back to Charlotte. "And if you'd be so kind and sign here, and here, ma chérie." Dr. Mortum pushes the last papers across the futuristic desk, smiling as she does so. "There." You sign Jane's name with a flourish you normally don't have. But you're excited—the countdown has begun, and soon everything will change. "Is that all?" "That is all, ma chérie." Dr. Mortum hands your copy of the contract back to you with a solemn nod. "Our business is now concluded. I am glad your boss found it to their liking." "I am too," you say with a teasing smile. "And that wasn't what I meant." "Ah, yes. I do remember—I just wasn't sure if you did." Dr. Mortum seems pleased at this development, secreting away her copies in a drawer that disappears again as soon as it's shut. "Now I am disappointed." You lean back a little in your chair, giving her a hurt look. "Did you think I was playing along just to keep you friendly?" "That has been known to happen, ma chérie, as there are people out there who do not trust the power of contracts. Or money," she adds with an amused shrug. "The business part was for my boss," you say with a vehemence that surprises you. "This is for me." "I see…." She pauses for a moment, scrutinizing your face with her usual intensity. "So what are you suggesting, then?" I will make up a story and keep Mortum in the dark about what will happen at the gala. > I will tell part of the truth about why Jane needs to be there. It's all coming to a head now. There's no sense holding cards in reserve. Dr. Mortum's role will be to safeguard Jane; she should be on the lookout. Besides, half-truths are easier than lies.--- "I have had more instructions from my boss." You lounge back in your chair a little, keeping the easy, sensual body language that you have adopted around her. "Now, they didn't give me exact instructions on how to go about this, and I was thinking that just maybe we can help each other out." "Is that so?" The look of amusement on her face tells you that this is the right way to play it. "I need to go to a party. A fancy party. And you need to take me out to dinner like you promised. So, it sounds to me that maybe we can make something of this." "Did your mysterious boss have any place in particular in mind?" Dr. Mortum is intrigued enough to not say no right away, but you can see that she is wondering what your game is. "The benefit gala for the new hero museum." "Really?" That was not something that she had expected. "Now, ma chérie, what are you supposed to do there?" "You know those explosives that you were asked to include in the deal?" "Yes, things like that would not have slipped my mind." Dr. Mortum's eyes are narrowing, and you realize you had better pick the right way to phrase this. > They are for distracting everyone at the event. They are for blowing up the museum. She's clearly infatuated with Jane, but I doubt she'd risk her own life. Besides, we're not trying to destroy the museum.--- "I am supposed to plant them at the gala. As a distraction." You scratch the back of your head a little, smiling sheepishly at Dr. Mortum. "So your boss is planning to attack the museum, then?" The slender, black fingertips have started to tap the surface of the table. You recognize that gesture; it means that she is thinking. "Honestly, I don't know. Maybe they just want to draw the attention there. They're not really the type you ask questions of, you know?" You stick with the story you have established, of someone who follows orders without questioning them. "So let me get this straight, ma chérie." Dr. Mortum leans a little closer, looking you straight in the eye. "You are inviting me to the gala that everybody is talking about, with the express purpose of wrecking it." "That's…not entirely correct." You pause, then brave a grin. "Technically, I am suggesting that you invite me. I don't have tickets yet." "I would think that your boss would have taken care of that already." "Has my boss given you the impression that they care much about making my life easier?" You can feel your voice gaining a harder edge. "They give the orders, and I have to obey." "I see." Dr. Mortum purses her lips. --- "I could have lied and tried to manipulate you into asking me out." You start to wonder if that might actually have been easier. "Do you really think it would be that easy to play me, ma chérie?" "I am telling you the truth, aren't I? That should tell you something." You know that you have raised your voice, sounding more than a little defensive, but right now it doesn't matter if you're losing a bit of control. It just adds to the character. "That is true," she admits. "But maybe you would have issues with actually getting the tickets…they are only available to the select few, I suppose." You make a look of disappointment that brings out a curse in return. "Merde." The laugh is short and sharp. "Keep your barbs to yourself, ma chérie. Getting tickets would not be an issue." "Ah, so it's the blowing things up that bothers you." "Well, you are suggesting ruining the very party we are going to." "Once we've had our fun, of course. Don't tell me you don't want to see the people there run around like panicked chickens." "That is an appealing prospect," she admits. "So is it a date, then?" "Fine, ma chérie. You win. But you had better dress up and make this worth it." The words are harsh, but the smile is showing that Dr. Mortum really does seem to enjoy the thought of getting into the thick of it once more. "Trust me," you say, allowing your smile to grow wide and predatory as well. "This will be a night to remember." --- We're in the endgame now. The attack on the gala is the last chapter of Rebirth. (Two sequels are in the works, with one coming out soon.) The next update will start the attack on the gala. Most of our character is pretty well established now; I'll be able to play the mission out based on past votes and decisions. So instead, my question is: How comfortable are we with risking Jane's cover and/or safety? She'll be surrounded by capes and the higher-ups of Los Diablos; opportunities may arise, but so might risks. And of course, we will be setting off explosives...
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Feb 8, 2020 00:30
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Jane's a cover, but still a useful cover, blowing it seems... wasteful?
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Feb 8, 2020 01:07
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Jane is a bit of a problem. They've served their purpose, but Dr. Mortum makes this more complicated than it should be. If Jane dies from the explosions or as a direct consequence of our actions, well. Dr Mortum did build our armor. Thus, if we want to get rid of Jane here, it has to be clearly the fault of the Capes, not us. So, I suggest Maintaining cover. The chance for tying up this loose end might show itself, but we can't rely on that occurring.
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Feb 8, 2020 01:57
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Arcanuse posted:Jane is a bit of a problem. Yeah, this. Fine with her dying at the hands of the 'heroes' but we gotta make sure she can't be tied back to us!
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Feb 8, 2020 09:13
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And another reason to Keep Jane Safe: WE EARNED THIS, WE DESERVE THIS  this is MINE MINE MINE MINE! 
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Feb 8, 2020 11:43
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The Gala This time, you will not leave anything to chance. Back when you were still fighting on the side of the angels, the truth was that you and Ortega won more fights due to your opponents' idiocy than through your own brilliant tactics. Inevitably, people would end up backstabbing each other, or someone would not bother sticking to the plan. If you were in trouble, you could always count on some hothead deciding to go after their archnemesis instead of pressing home their advantage as a team. The point is that villains are not stable individuals; they are a collection of psychopaths and idiots, of megalomaniacs and criminals. They can be trusted only to screw themselves over as readily as their enemies, which is why you have made sure to keep your exposure to them to a sheer minimum. You are different. You will not make a fool of yourself. So tonight, you have everything planned out. Step by step. The first step is getting out of the rented limousine, taking care to neither slip nor accidentally flash somebody. Luckily, Dr. Mortum's hand is there to steady you, because your heels are a bit higher than you normally wear. You are wearing clothes worth more than a year's rent on your apartment, but it's all for a good cause, and only partially to impress your date. The rest is camouflage. It feels slightly odd to be using something this expensive to fit in, as normally you are hesitant to stand out. But on this occasion, all your rules go out the window. Of course, that's nothing new when you're inhabiting Jane's body; life is strange, and you just have to deal. Still… …at times like this, I love being Jane. > …I feel increasingly uncomfortable, but am trying to hide it. Something about having a suit of power armour makes Jane's dress and high heels feel even more awkward. To say nothing of the whole rest of the situation.--- You prefer your anonymity, and even though the puppet is a comfortable mask, that doesn't make it easier to have people notice you. It's one thing in a seedy villains' bar; it's another thing entirely when people take pictures. But you don't let your doubts show, keeping your practiced smile in place as you focus on walking. As you approach the brightly lit doors, you cast a glance back over your shoulder. You can see the white van parked on the far side of the street. The owner should be at a bar further down the block, drinking heavily. The suggestions you planted should keep him there for the rest of the night. There's nothing to connect him to what is about to happen; he will just wake up with a hangover and a very foggy memory of the last few days. Nothing unusual, you are sure. It is weird thinking that your proper self is resting in the back of the van, an empty body dressed in an advanced battlesuit and covered by tarp. It should be close enough to slip into when you need to. It won't be long now. "I didn't know you could dress up this nice." You take a moment to smile at Dr. Mortum, and you have to admit that you are surprised. You've seen her in the flashy outfit she usually wears to Joes, and in her usual lab coat. Not in a fashionable dress complete with a pair of very expensive glasses. In a way, it transforms her more than a mask would. "Likewise, ma chérie. How much did you pay for that dress?" "Nothing," you say with a sweet little chuckle, making her laugh in turn. "That's my girl." "Really?" You give her a challenging look. "Well, for tonight anyway." She offers you her arm with a flourish, and after a moment of hesitation, you take it. You need to get through the door, after all, and there is a moment of tenseness when she presents the tickets before being allowed inside. Looks like the good doctor couldn't care less if people stare at the two of you. In a strange way, that makes you rather envious. "Such a lovely party this seems to be." Dr. Mortum smiles faintly as she looks around once you're finally inside. "Would be a shame if something happened to it." "Would be a shame if someone chose to run their mouth a little too much," you say quietly, a sharp smile aimed in her direction. It's obvious that the good doctor has a lot to learn about the subtler aspects of manipulation. "I'll behave, ma chérie, as long as there is time to have some fun together before your fun begins." The smile she returns is as sharp as yours, and you promise yourself to remember that she might be friendly, but that doesn't make her harmless. "Don't worry about that," you reply with a softer smile. "How about getting me a drink to start things off?" "That I can do, ma chérie—I'll be right back." --- It feels strange to walk here amongst your so-called betters, but it is no stranger than the other things you've done recently. If anything, it makes you feel more at home than usual because here everybody wears a mask. Yours just goes a little deeper than most. Overhead, the domed ceiling is filled with lights resembling stars, lowered from dazzling brilliance to comfortable ambiance. Nobody needs bright lights to reveal their flaws, and you know that as time passes, faces will begin to shift. Makeup will rub off and be clumsily reapplied, faces going stale from too many lies and too much champagne. It will also allow for some refuge from the ever-present cameras. While the photographers are not as numerous in here, very few being allowed the accreditation to get inside, some are still allowed to capture the stories that the people in charge want to tell. Normally, you'd be annoyed at their presence. But right now, they are providing your best protection against the Special Directive. A team made for war zones and shadows isn't something deployed in public areas like this, which is what you have counted on. You do not want to be their target yet: you know too much about them to even imagine that you would be ready. This, however, is more up your alley. The people here are ignorant and rich, circling like buzzards around the glass model of the museum placed in the center of the foyer. It's got an opening in the ceiling where people deposit large wads of cash, posing for the cameras with a smile as they show off how generous they are. You imagine the model will fill up nicely towards the end of the evening. It's rather ironic that the donations intended for the museum's upkeep will further your upkeep instead. Serves them right for profiting on things they do not understand. Still, it feels odd to be here with someone else, even if it is for a reason. Your relationship with Dr. Mortum is a complicated one, but during the drive here you made one thing clear to her: whatever else this relationship is, it also means that… > …this is a real date, perhaps the first of several. …we are just flirting—who knows where this will go from here. …we are just friends, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun. …this is all business, even if it is pleasurable business. While we have our ulterior motives, and can't rule out the chance of her having some too, this also feels like a real relationship. And even if it wasn't, we wouldn't tell her that now! She's in charge of protecting Jane, after all.--- As far as you know, Dr. Mortum is not seeing anyone. If you can remain close enough to actually sustain a relationship, it might come in very handy. This is why you had Jane act so accessible from the start. You spot movement out of the corner of your eye and bring back the smile to your lips just in time. Or perhaps slightly too late… "You look tense, ma chérie." Dr. Mortum returns with drinks in hand, offering you one of them. Hell. She must have seen your unguarded expression. "I'm not used to being at parties like this," you admit with a shrug. "I'm surprised." She sips her champagne, one eyebrow raised in your direction. "Do I look like someone who enjoys the nightlife to you?" You take a sip as well—a little alcohol right now can only be a good thing. Too late, you realize that Jane probably does, since you spent a lot of time building her confident attitude. "It is hard to say…." Dr. Mortum rubs her chin a little as she looks you over, luckily taking your comments at face value. "We've mostly been meeting on account of business." "Well, trust me. I've never been comfortable around this many people." You suppress a shiver, deciding to just go with it. It is easier to deal with a crowd like this in Jane, but it also makes it feel a lot more unreal. "Just follow my lead, ma chérie." You get a comforting pat on one shoulder. "I'll get you through this in one piece." "You look like you're right in your element, though." There's a certainty to her movements you hadn't expected. You always imagined scientists were at home in the laboratory and nowhere else, but from what you have seen so far, Dr. Mortum seems to be able to reinvent herself with an ease that makes you jealous. "Too many fund-raisers," she says with a shrug. "One of the drawbacks of an academic career." "Oh?" The thought of the good doctor having to contend with mundanities like fund-raisers makes it hard to suppress your smile. "I had no idea." "And I would appreciate you keeping that little fact quiet." She raises her glass in a toast. "I don't like to dwell on the past." "So, are you likely to run into anyone who will recognize you here?" It is a fair worry, though you suppose that if Dr. Mortum causes a scene, it will leave you free to do your preparations without her. You've already got your money's worth from her, since you are inside. "Not likely." The grimace speaks of a past buried there. "And even if I did, I do not exactly look like I used to." "I know what you mean." You look out over the crowd, wondering not for the first time exactly what Dr. Mortum's stakes are besides money. You do have a bit of time before you need to start your preparations, so this might be a good opportunity to learn a bit more. I try to talk shop, keeping it professional. > I'll treat this as a date and get a bit personal. Seems like the good doctor is running from her own past too.--- "Don't tell me you had an ugly duckling adolescence as well?" Dr. Mortum's smile is a joking one, but there's a hint of real emotion there that prompts you to answer flippantly. "Is there anyone who hasn't been an awkward teen?" Your smile feels a little frozen; this is knowledge you've mostly gleaned from media, as your own childhood was more than a little…unorthodox. "I assume that those are the people who look back to high school as the high point of their lives." A throaty chuckle of amusement. "Good riddance to them." "Agreed." You let out a breath you weren't aware that you had been holding. "Sounds like a sore subject, ma chérie." There is a softness to her voice that catches you a little off guard. "I suppose it is." Your heart is beating a little too fast, so you take a few moments to sip your drink and regain control. "But it's also in the past, so it can't touch me." It's strange that even though you know you are lying to yourself, you still can get some comfort from it. "It's an interesting feeling, isn't it?" Dr. Mortum looks around the crowd for a moment before returning her gaze to you. "To look back and realize how much you've changed. How far you've come." "I suppose." You snort a little in amusement. For a moment, you can see your younger self, standing in a party not unlike this one, feeling completely overwhelmed for very different reasons. "Never thought I'd end up like this." "For people like us, the first time stepping out of line means stepping into our own. I recognized a kindred spirit in you from our first meeting." You turn to look at the good doctor, frowning a little as you try to decide how you are supposed to handle this conversation. She has turned out to be more perceptive than you bargained for. This is dangerous. I will change the subject to Dr. Mortum instead of me. > I'm curious about what she thinks of me, so I will let her continue leading the conversation. I think the best way to dodge this, paradoxically, is not to dodge. Letting her lead might be less conspicuous than trying to redirect the conversation now.--- "Really? What kind of a kindred spirit is that?" You smile a little coyly, pushing back your nervous twitch about being investigated like this. "Someone who is in the process of reinventing themselves." She rubs her chin a little, looking you over. "Into what, I'm not sure." "Isn't that true for everybody, though?" "Sadly, no. Most people are satisfied with what life has given them. They might whine and complain, but they will make no attempt to change their circumstances." "But I am?" "Are you telling me that I'm wrong?" Dr. Mortum looks honestly puzzled, as if nobody had ever dared to do that before. "Not exactly…." You drag out the pause a little too long. "Just that I'm uncomfortable with being scrutinized this closely." "I'm not your enemy, ma chérie." She smiles a little as she looks into your eyes. "Quite the opposite, in fact." "And all I have for that is your word." You do not return the smile. "True." Dr. Mortum nods, a serious look on her dark face. "And I'm not asking you to believe me." "Good." You set your jaw in a stubborn scowl. "I've learned not to trust anybody but myself." "That is a wise decision, but…can I offer a bit of advice?" "If you wish to." You empty your drink, trying to keep your voice light. "You should find a new employer. I don't think this one is good for you." Whoa. That's not where I expected that to go - but I'm glad it re-confirms that our 'employer' deception has completely set in.--- There's a faint clink of glass, and it takes you a moment to notice that it comes from your hand. The stem of your champagne glass is snapped in half, and for the life of you, you can't figure out how that happened. "Did you cut yourself?" Dr. Mortum looks down at your hand with a worried frown, almost reaching out to touch you. "I'm fine," you lie, and then after a moment you realize that this is at least partly true. You aren't bleeding. Only the glass is broken. Somehow. "Looks like they've skimped a bit on the quality of their glasses." She reaches out to take the broken glass, allowing you to examine your hand to make sure that you're not bleeding. "Should have stuck to plastic," you joke, trying to get back to yourself. "Like the people." "If you are wearing a false face, it is important to surround yourself with things that are real." Dr. Mortum pulls her hand back, smiling faintly. "Most people only see trappings, and don't question what lies beneath." "I suppose…" you mumble to yourself, as she hands the broken glass to one of the staff. You know you should laugh it off, but the taste for conversation has left you. --- "Merde." Dr. Mortum seems like she hasn't noticed your sudden silence, instead focusing on a face in the crowd. A face it takes a moment for you to pick out. Ortega. "What is it?" You feign ignorance, though your heart is beating way too fast as you turn away before he spots you. Luckily, Dr. Mortum is too focused on Ortega to pay you any attention. "Nothing, ma chérie—let's go somewhere more quiet, no?" "Sure—" you start, but you're not allowed to finish the sentence as you find yourself swept into a neighboring hallway. That's a surprise; not only did Dr. Mortum lose what amounted to an almost impermeable mask of cool, but she also showed herself to be a lot stronger than you gave her credit for. Interesting. "My apologies." Dr. Mortum is once more collected and suave, with no trace of the emotion that had bubbled to the surface before. "No need to worry." You do give her a piercing look though. "See someone you recognized?" "Yes. And while I doubt they would recognize me, I'd rather take no chances, if you know what I mean." "Oh yes, I do." You let out the breath you have been holding the same moment Dr. Mortum does, and there's a brief pause before you both start to laugh. "Ma chérie, you look like you have seen a ghost as well." "Maybe I have." You say it with a wink because it is always nice to keep the good doctor guessing. "Or maybe I just did not expect to be swept off my feet quite that way." "Oh really?" It looks like Dr. Mortum is as quick to change the subject as you are. The only question is how much you want to play into that particular thing. How do you feel about Dr. Mortum? Really? She's useful, of course, and might continue to be useful in the future, which is part of the reason you are continuing this 'relationship.' So…how far are you willing to take this? I have no interest in going further. I am a bit curious to see if she will kiss me or not. > Screw caution—I will kiss her first. You know what? We're head-blind, at a party we plan to rob, carrying explosives, surrounded by enemies, in shoes we can barely walk in, and our date is a villainous tinker whose motives we only kind of understand. "Careful" went out the window when we stole the nanovores.--- "Is this what I think it is, then?" You know your smile is slipping close to honesty, but screw caution. Tonight everything changes, and you might as well have fun with it. "And this is why I admire your intelligence." Dr. Mortum doesn't seem to mind your candor—rather the opposite. "I doubt that's the only thing you admire," you reply, looking her boldly in the eyes. "That's true." Her voice has dropped a notch as you step closer. "Do you mind?" "Not sure yet." You reach out to touch her cheek, half-expecting her to pull back with a laugh. Instead, she leans into the touch. "I guess I'll have to see," you mumble as you lean closer. It is easier than you imagine to just kiss her. It doesn't even take much courage—all you have to do is to lean in and slide your hand around the back of her head, pulling closer. There is no resistance; both of you want to try this new thing out. New. The taste of her lips is new. The way your gut squirms is new. Charlotte would never have done this, but somehow Jane does so very easily. This is not a wise decision, and you know it. You could have kept her at arm's length for at least another month without having to give this up. Except that you are not giving up anything, you are exploring. Besides, you want this. You can't deny the surge in your body that makes you press closer, deepening the kiss with a heat you weren't aware you were capable of mustering. Why are you doing this? Why are you feeling this way? You're not sure. Your own motivations are a bundle of eels that keep squirming out of your hands as soon as you try to untangle them. Dr. Mortum is one part of it; your curiosity about how far you can pull her along is another part. But deep down, there is yet another part which you are forced to recognize. You want this. You want this because kissing her make you feel real. Grounded. She sees you, looks at you as if you are there. Not just a puppet. Not just a tool. As someone. Someone real. How long has it been since you felt this real? This alive? You're not sure, and it takes a while before you can bring yourself to break the kiss, catching your breath. You didn't mean for it to get this far. You didn't mean for it to get inside your guts and set them on fire. "So…" Dr. Mortum speaks first, the smile on her lips a tender, uncertain crescent. "So…that happened." You clear your throat a little, straightening your back. "I hope that was something that might possibly have been to your liking?" It is almost endearing to see how she has suddenly found herself in as deep waters as you have. "I have no complaints," you say in a light tone, taking a moment to reach out and touch her cheek in return. "I would not like to impose. Except perhaps on your time." It is said as a joke, but there is an undertone there of serious emotion that makes you feel a bit nervous. "Just because I am working doesn't mean I can't have fun." Your smile is almost genuine. "And speaking of which…" "It is time to get to work?" The sigh is small, but not as annoyed as you had feared. "It is. And thank you once again for going along with this. I don't trust my boss to keep my best interests at heart." "That is probably wise." Dr. Mortum nods and takes another look around. "I will wait near the exit for you in case you need help, no?" "The timer will be set for thirty minutes from now, so if you haven't seen me by then, make sure to get out." "I can take care of myself, ma chérie. I know better than anyone what those explosive devices can do." "You should." You can't help the fond smile on your face. "Take care." "You as well." And with that, you turn your back and disappear into the crowd. --- It is strange how different everything feels now that you are moving with a cause. Suddenly, the room does not seem so huge, and the people neither strange nor terrible. They are just bodies in your way: it is important to know where they are and how they move, but they aren't individuals anymore. Just pieces on a board. You smile a little to yourself when you realize you are about to flip the table. How does that make you feel? Impatient—I want to get this over and be done with it. Nervous—there are so many things that could go wrong. > Excited—I can't wait to finally unveil myself. Hesitant—after this, there is no turning back. --- You do not exactly skip as you walk towards the restrooms (not that you could!), but it is close. The sooner you are done with this task, the sooner you can slide back into your real body. This is it. Finally. After tonight, you'll be a nobody no longer. For a moment, you almost feel out of breath, the weight of the occasion finally hitting home. This is it. Finally. You push open the door to the bathroom with a carefully neutral face, making your way to one of the stalls. There are people here, but not that many; none of them pays much attention to you, apart from a cursory glance. Good. --- Quietly, you remove the lining of your purse, enabling you to remove the small, flat charges resting at the bottom of it. They should be undetectable by anything but a thorough search. Luckily, this gala does not have that kind of security. Wouldn't want to offend the celebrity guests. For a moment, you look down at the charges resting on the toilet, re-adjusting yourself until you think you look presentable once more. Your hands don't shake as you pick up the charges, quickly setting the timer on each of them. Now you're on the clock—no time to lose. You quickly put the charges back in your purse, clutching it gingerly to your chest. As you exit the stall, you take a moment to make sure your face is in order, smiling a little at your reflection. Nobody pays you any attention as you walk out of there. --- Your stomach feels like ice and vinegar, and this time you walk with quiet purpose. You know that the timers are ticking, carefully set to allow you just enough time to place them all. Luckily, you've got the spots where you need to place them memorized. Keeping that in mind, what steps have you taken when planning for the explosion? I have made sure to minimize the risk of casualties. > I'll place them where they're most efficient. If someone gets hurt, so be it. I want maximum damage—people don't matter. There's no need to go out of our way for blood, but we can't risk the distraction failing; the explosives have to go where they're needed. --- You are here for a reason, and you can't let things like concern over other people's safety jeopardize your plans. The charges you are placing are there to distract, to channel, and to provide for a suitable entry for your new self. If people get hurt, so be it. It's no skin off your back. It is hard to keep the smile off your lips. But then again, this is a party, so it is not entirely out of place. You are allowed to smile as you weave through the crowds. You are allowed to be happy. This is your big day. Your first proper birthday. And yet, there is a part of you that keeps wondering if this isn't too easy. A part of you that is waiting for your plans to be discovered as you deftly place small adhesive charges under tables and behind pillars. But nobody spares you a second glance, and you just keep floating through the crowds, following the path you already have planned in your head. One charge after the other, getting ready for your carefully choreographed debut. Finally, with one last look at your too-expensive watch, you find yourself adrift for a moment, just watching the people that surround you. Soon their lives will change, and yet they have no idea. Only you do. Perfect. As you make your way back towards the foyer, you can't help but walk past the donation area. The glass model of the museum is almost full, and you can't even begin to imagine how much money is in there. It's as showy as the biggest novelty check, and you wonder if the contents will fit into the bag you brought. You hope so, as it would be a shame to leave any behind. This is your new life resting behind the ornate glass: new possibilities for a future you were never allowed to have before. But you will now, as that is one lesson living in Los Diablos has taught you—cash is still king. "Excuse me," someone says as they bump into you, and you mumble something equally nondescript in turn. A glance at your watch shows that time is running out fast, and you need to make sure that Jane is in the right position. > I will trust Dr. Mortum to take care of Jane. I will make sure Jane is safe and outside of the building. If Jane gets injured, it makes her less likely to be a suspect. It's just a puppet—why should I care? When we drop our puppet, she'll be catatonic. Leaving her alone might get her trampled, which would be...inconvenient. Whatever Dr. Mortum's motivations, she seems to genuinely care about Jane. And who knows - maybe her fancy suit has some gadgets she can use in a pinch. She'll do as good a job as anyone.--- It takes you less time than you feared to find Dr. Mortum again, as she's waiting right where you agreed. It's a small thing, but right now, it makes you breathe a sigh of relief. "Did you run into any trouble?" she asks, smiling a little as she offers you a drink. "No thanks." You shake your head and give her a disarming smile. "Honestly, I think I've had enough for the night…how about going somewhere more private?" "I would suggest that you wait in the foyer, then, while I get the car?" Dr. Mortum looks you in the face to read your reactions. "Thank you," you say with a faint smile. "I think I'll sit down a little, so why don't you come and get me when you're ready?" You nod towards the benches that line one of the walls. "I'll be over there." "Good to know." The nod is short and curt, and you can see in her eyes that she is wondering if that is a safe spot. It is not, but you feel that you need to have some injuries to be a believable victim in case you have attracted undue attention. "Don't forget me," you say, not liking the pleading tone in your voice. But this is a risk, and you are trusting her to get you out in one piece. No. Not you. Your puppet. "I'll just be a moment, ma chérie," she assures you. "See you soon, then." You smile a little and sit down, trying to keep calm. The minutes crawl by, and you are trying hard not to keep looking at your watch as you observe the exit. There are so many things that could go wrong here, and you are trying not to think about them. Not very successfully. Minutes pass, then seconds, and finally your internal countdown reaches zero. And a second later, the first charge goes off—the smaller warning one that is there to give you your final cue. Smoke billows everywhere. The fire alarm screams out of tune with the crowd, and you fervently hope that Dr. Mortum is on the way before you allow yourself to leave Jane's brain. You don't feel the impact of the floor against her face. You are already long gone. Sorites fucked around with this message at 15:56 on Feb 12, 2020 |
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Feb 9, 2020 18:32
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I'll take a step out of character to say that the update above is one of the most variable scenes in the game. It changes based on your choice of puppet, your date (if any), your relationship status with each romantic option, your mission (the case of money only got the spotlight because we're here to rob it), and I believe your answer to the early-game questions about how comfortable you are in the puppet's body. I think there are some variables I don't even know about. For example, the last time I played the puppet was standing up when the bombs went off and twisted her ankle as she fell. I'm not sure what causes her to do that instead of sitting down, but I think the game also drew less attention to her uncomfortable shoes. Maybe the short female puppet is better in heels (Jane is the tall one) and didn't need to rest? Or maybe it has to do with the choice of sport/exercise? I have no idea. This is a really impressive little game; you can tell it was a labour of love.
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Feb 9, 2020 18:37
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This game is really impressive, I agree.
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Feb 9, 2020 22:37
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It really is nicely done.
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Feb 9, 2020 23:01
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there are a lot of variables that the game tracks, both tracked on the stat screen or hidden that prompt changes in the text and descriptions. There's a big one for the puppet but it would be a spoiler for the second game (there's an open alpha available right now) to say what it is.
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Feb 10, 2020 02:48
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How the heck is a sequel game even going to work if the game is so variable?!
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Feb 10, 2020 02:51
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Now that I absorbed it a bit, one of the things that gets me is that conversation with Dr Mortum. It really hits the right amount of comfortable and uncomfortable, along with that surprise statement about our 'employer' that is just blindsiding. This is much more than superficial for Dr Mortum, and it showed in the genuine concern for Jane's well-being.
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Feb 10, 2020 03:35
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Synthbuttrange posted:How the heck is a sequel game even going to work if the game is so variable?! I don't know, but I'm going to wait for the full release to find out. "Excited" is an understatement.
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Feb 10, 2020 04:02
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Sorites posted:I don't know, but I'm going to wait for the full release to find out. "Excited" is an understatement. Hopefully you'll do a Let's Play! of the sequel when it's out cause have really enjoyed this mate!
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Feb 10, 2020 04:32
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it might be another year or two before we see it, Malin is just finishing up the rough draft of the core path now, but there's still a lot more work to go. Revision, filling in variable details, etc. I think word count as of the last update of the open alpha before it switched to a closed invite-only to finish out the ending was already over 700k words total, for an average ~66k a play through Rebirth in comparison is about 385k words with an average play though coming in at around 73k words. in short: these games are v ambitious and mx. rydén is some kind of word wizard edit: oh yeah, all this and english isn't their first language AriadneThread fucked around with this message at 05:18 on Feb 10, 2020 |
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Feb 10, 2020 05:11
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Stoner Sloth posted:Hopefully you'll do a Let's Play! of the sequel when it's out cause have really enjoyed this mate! I almost certainly will, although it may be a while. Hopefully the file transfers work smoothly because I intend to upload our endgame state.
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Feb 11, 2020 02:48
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Fun read thanks for running it
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Feb 11, 2020 17:15
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Showtime Dark. Down, then up, your mind making directions where there are none. "Ah!" Your real body jerks awake as you leave Jane to her fate, trusting that her comatose body will be safe. Dark. Still dark? For a moment, you struggle with disorientation. Then you remember: you are lying in the back of the van that your brainwashed garage owner parked nearby. With a grunt of frustration, you shift your body underneath the tarp, the unfamiliar resistance of the powered-down armor giving you a moment's pause. Dr. Mortum's finest work, she claims; well, after tonight, you will know for sure. It takes a moment to tap in the right sequence, bringing the armor to life; green numbers scroll across the corner of your vision. You can taste metal on your tongue as you feel the Rat King cozy up against your hindbrain, the telltale stench of burning hair tickling your nose as the nanovores contained inside your glove come alive. You brush your hand against the tarp and it dissolves. It takes effort not to do the same to the back door of the van as you open it. After that brief struggle of will, the nanovores quiet down once more, eagerly awaiting your next command. Perfect. Outside, crowds are gathering—but they are all looking away, pointing to the show that is underway at the museum. Chaos. Smoke. Screams. Confusion. Now, how will you take your first step into the world? > I blow up the van as I leave—got to make an entrance. I'll emerge from a cloud of smoke grenades. What's the big deal? I just get out. It's not quite stiletto heels and a ballgown, but we might as well make an entrance.--- You want them to be looking at you, not at anything else. It's important to make a grand entrance. You're not Sidestep anymore, and the time for sneaking around like a thief in the night is over. Reaching back into one of the hidden compartments in your armor, you pull out a small explosive charge. Even though your mission here is not yet over, you can spare one for the van. Setting the timer for ten seconds, you toss it over your shoulder and step outside, straightening your back. There's a momentary pause, nobody noticing your presence. Then the timer runs out, and the van explodes in a cloud of flames strong enough to make you take a few stumbling steps forward, the heat registering as bright orange pinpricks on the edge of your sensors. Oh, they most certainly have noticed you now, the world a crazy kaleidoscope of fire and panic centered straight on you. "Get out of my way!" you shout, channeling movie villains through the voice distorter in your helmet. Your mind reaches out to brush terror over some of the more volatile thought patterns nearby, getting the panic started. Sidestep never frightened anybody, but this time you most certainly will. Even your vocal distortion is carefully calibrated to give a faintly unearthly impression, with hisses and metallic grinding sounds bleeding into your words. The crowds scatter as you laugh, the distorters transforming your mirth into something alien and vaguely menacing. You're doing this. You're actually doing this. You have booked the stage, set up the play, and cast the roles. Now the audience is running for their lives as sirens wail in the distance. It feels amazing. Striding through the museum plaza, you finally see some people who are not milling around in panic. Security guards. Of course. There will be more, but right now there are only two who have spotted you and drawn their guns. There's no time to have fun here, and they're not really a big threat, but you still pause for a moment to decide how to approach this. Fighting heroes is one thing, but how will you treat normal people? How much of a villain are you, really? > I'll try not to harm anyone too badly. What happens, happens. They are in my way, so they are going down hard. I want to see blood—if someone gets killed, it's no skin off my back. Not only do we have some morals still, we're here to rob the place. The crowd might be easier to work if we aren't, you know, dripping with ichor.--- Just because you are not on the side of the law anymore doesn't mean you have suddenly turned into a murderer. They are in your way, and you will take them down—but they are just doing their job. Normal people you can afford to go easy on. Blam! The first shot they fire misses, tearing through the crowd behind you. Did someone get hit? You don't care, and you don't turn to look. Instead, you quicken your pace, calculating the best way to take them down. > I'm fast. I'll just dodge the bullets and rush them. I'll trigger their paranoia and make them attack each other. I will shut them down hard with a telepathic command. They're just people. I can beat them up easily enough. I was tempted by the third and last options, but they're both too Sidestep. There will surely be cameras on us by now.--- The guards are just people with guns. Ordinary people with guns. Honestly, you fought crooks like them when you were Sidestep, and back then you didn't have the tools you do now. Tensing your muscles, you feel the armor coming alive around you, time seeming to slow down as you cross the space between you and the guards. You can hear their panicked thoughts in your head—too fast, too fast!—and the shot goes wide, and you're in their faces, and they can't see your smile behind your helmet. But you hope they can feel it. You are much too fast for them. You can't help a quick laugh as you make a grab for the gun, yanking it out of the man's hand. "I do not appreciate being shot at." Your voice is a low growl. The gun turns to dust in your hand, the nanovores eagerly devouring the metal. "Uhm…sorry?" The guard steps back, but not fast enough. Your blow hits him straight in the gut, sending him to the ground; he lies there, gasping for breath. The other guard takes a shot at you, but you simply sidestep the bullet. As you turn to glare at him, he drops the gun, raises his hand, and backs away. The fear you can feel from him and the crowd makes you smile inside your helmet. You don't spare them a second look as you cross the increasingly empty stretch in front of you, stepping towards the museum. For a brief moment, you catch something at the corner of your eye. No, not something. Someone. Dr. Mortum stands at the edge of the crowd, Jane unconscious in her arms, glaring at you with surprising vehemence. You've got no time to read her thoughts, but you don't get the impression she likes you very much. Getting Jane hurt has won you no favors, but little does she know that what she's gently cradling is nothing but a shell. Something you're ready to leave behind as you turn your back on her and head towards your new life. I'm not thrilled that Dr. Mortum dislikes us; we'll probably need her unless and until we find someone else who's capable of maintaining our suit. But Jane has her completely under control; we can handle it.--- Entering the museum is quite a different experience than it was a couple of hours ago. The doors hang halfway open from the blast. Gone are the bouncers and the paparazzi, though there's still the odd flash of a camera making sure that your progress is immortalized. Good. You leave the cameras to their work, as they are one of the reasons why you chose this venue in the first place. Around you, the crowd that was milling for the exit now retreats, pushed back by the aura of menace you are wrapping around yourself. Some have already fled the field, spurred on by the explosions you set earlier. But many have lingered, afraid of the sounds of fighting outside, unsure whether this is an attack from within or without. Little do they know it is both. So this is what it feels like to have people look at you in fear and awe. It's an interesting feeling; you are not used to being noticed, let alone feared. And now, you are both. It's intoxicating. And at the same time, it feels unreal. As if you are still on the outside looking in, watching someone else perform in the starring role of your life. Now, what should you do with this pliable melting pot of bystanders? Their fear makes them irrational and easily pushed, but in which direction? I play into their fear, making them cower before me. > I play into their fear, making them flee the building. I calm them down, making them evacuate the building in an orderly fashion. We've made no overt use of our telepathy yet. A calm, orderly evacuation might give away what we can do; right now, our first cape fight should be pretty free since our opponent won't know our powers and we will certainly know theirs.--- Leaning into the comfortable weight of the Rat King, you reach out and let the sea of thoughts surround you. The telepathic boosters that Dr. Mortum designed make the process surprisingly painless, allowing the Rat King to filter the worst excesses before they touch you. In the old days, a mass panic like this might have floored you, sent you into a curling ball of pain, unable to filter the unadulterated emotions. This time, the tumult just splashes against your fences, a wave and not a tsunami. You can handle this. No, you can't just handle it. You can use it. Emotions. Thoughts. One the cause of the other, the serpent eating its own tail. Sifting out the right emotions, you send them back to the rest of the crowd with the weight of your own will behind them. Fear. Panic. The need to escape. You want them fleeing before you, evacuating the building so you can get on with your work. The resulting stampede is glorious in its viciousness. People cry and whimper, but above all, they move. Struggling, shoving, clambering over each other to be the first one to escape. For the briefest of moments, you're in the crowd with them, the panicked urge to flee overwhelming everything—end it, end it now, the window… No! You tear yourself away from that memory and straighten your back, shrugging off the unwanted baggage. You're stronger now. You've learned from your mistakes. You've learned how to do this—you're an unmoving rock, walking forward, parting the human waves before you with a simple gesture. That should do it. From above, it will look like they saw us and stampeded. I'm glad we didn't leave Jane on the front steps.--- You allow yourself a moment of quiet, taking a deep breath as you take in your surroundings. It's not like you've got a lot of time, as you're on the clock. But at the same time, you know you can't hurry so much you forget to pay attention. You've got this—you've gone over your plans in your head time and time again, and there is no need for panic. No need for mistakes. So far, there has been no sign of the inevitable heroes arriving on the scene. But you know that's not going to last. Better get the important things finished while you have time. There's a smile under your helmet as you stride across the room, heading for your target. The glass model of the museum glitters faintly under the lights, the elaborate structure filled to the brim with money. It's such a wonderfully showy object, a needless extravagance when donations could be made in a simpler manner. But most people don't give because they have generous hearts; they give to show off their wealth and make others jealous of their affluence and virtue. To get pictures and headlines, you need spectacles such as this. The ridiculous nature of people has always been easy to exploit. Reaching out, you touch the padlock on the lid and disintegrate it. For a moment, you struggle with reeling in the nanovores before they can start devouring glass and money. Good, you are the one who is the master here; hopefully time and practice will make them remember that. Pulling out the lightweight expanding bag you've kept in a compartment in your armor, you take a moment to decide how to get the money. No, not 'the' money. Your money. I have some people fill the bag as I steal the crowd's expensive jewelry. I fill the bag fast, no time to waste. I want to get everything. > I fill the bag slowly, making sure to keep an eye open. No help from civilians, of course, so we'll have to do this ourselves. Gotta be careful to avoid getting snuck up on while we do it.--- Resisting the urge to just get this done as fast as you can, you start tossing wads of cash into the open bag. It feels ridiculous to handle these vast amounts of money; your earlier attempts at monetary crime have all been more discreet. No bank or casino robberies, just simple crimes with simple victims. A little at a time adds up, but not as fast as this. It's ridiculous. Ridiculous, but also wonderful. If the armor you are wearing is the start of your new life, this is how you make it bearable. There is enough here for you to get a proper base to operate from instead of your apartment, and maybe even to pay some henchmen. And hell, if it isn't, all you need to do is steal some more. As long as you are careful, this is just the first step of a long career. As long as you are careful, that is. Keeping an eye out paid off—your bag might not be full, but you are not alone anymore. You have company. The cavalry has arrived. With a small sigh, you keep your hands busy shoveling money as you let your mind wander, scanning the room. It's not hard to pick up Herald's thoughts; as you predicted, he is the first one on the scene. Behind you, of course, and up on the balcony. It probably took him this long to change—god forbid he be caught fighting in his civilian clothes. Wouldn't look good on the front page. How long do you have until he makes his move? Not long, you think; he always was the impatient one. There! You can feel the rush of adrenaline echoing his as he leaps off the balcony, diving right for you. You wait as long as you dare, pretending to be oblivious to his attack, shifting your weight slightly to be ready to move. It's going to be a risky maneuver, but you did things like this back when you were Sidestep. And back then, you didn't have armor to support you. All it takes is waiting for the right moment, holding your breath and suppressing the urge to dodge as Herald dives for you. One second. Two. And then you duck and turn, on your knees, fist shooting up for a quick kidney blow. You're almost too late: either you're out of practice, or Herald is faster than you estimated. But almost is enough—your fist connects with his gut. With force enough to nearly throw you to the ground, Herald tumbles past you, crashing into the glass case. He careens across the floor in a flurry of shards and money. Nobody hears the choked giggle as you watch the hero roll across the floor in an undignified tumble. You have ample time to zip up your bag, making sure your money is secure. For the first time, you wish you had asked Dr. Mortum to fit the helmet with recorders. But as it is, you have to settle for the memories. You turn for the door. There's no use fighting in here when you want your stage to be the grandest possible. The news choppers should be arriving soon. And you are looking forward to them…what an odd feeling that is. Wanting to be seen. Wanting to be someone. Someone who matters. Behind you, you hear a muttered curse as Herald gets to his feet. But you don't care. You have already walked outside, a smile on your lips and bag in hand. So this is how it feels... --- Overhead, a news chopper has appeared, just as you predicted. They tend to be on the scene faster than the police. The LDPD, as an organization, is notoriously underfunded. The idea of a municipal police department doesn't fit well with the laissez-faire lack of government in the Western Territories. Private security firms are the norm, which tends to leave public spaces like this better targets than private ones. Back when you ran with the Rangers, this was an ongoing concern. It looks like little has changed. Not that you expected it to. People never change. You take a moment to drop the bag of money behind a slab of concrete. It should be safe there; people are already backing up, looking between you and Herald. --- Herald takes a step forward, and you refocus your attention on him. While enjoying the moment is all fine and well, you won't make the mistake of getting distracted before the fight is over. You have seen too many of your opponents go down because they did not see you as a credible threat. To be fair, you can't really blame them. You didn't exactly look like one back in those days. "Now, I suppose we should get on with it." You speak the words softly, meant for nobody but yourself, but Herald picks them up anyway. Does he have enhanced hearing as well? You make a note to check into that later. "Who are you, anyway?" Herald looks genuinely puzzled, as if there might be some briefing he should have remembered. He can't recognize you, can he? There should be no similarities between the Charlotte he met and the person you have become. What will you tell him? It is a question that needs to be answered sooner or later. I won't tell him who I am—let the papers make up a name. > Time to reveal the new identity I have chosen for myself. --- You let the moment drag on until it is uncomfortable, quietly watching Herald from behind your mirrored helmet. You know very well how unnerving silence can be. Herald's stance shifts from wary to frustrated. Good, that gives you the power here. "How ignorant." You speak the briefest of moments before he is about to open his mouth, cutting him off with the precision of a scalpel. "I would have thought your kind would be more informed. I am…" "…Entropy." "…Retribution." > "…Anathema." No, I am named something else….  --- There is something so very fitting about stepping into your old comrade's boots; you might not be secreting acid, but your nanovores more than make up for it. You have no idea how Ortega will deal with someone using the name of his old friend, his old failure. Still, it would be fun to rub his face in it. Are you prepared to deal with the repercussions? I am! > I won't risk my anonymity this early. Oh, fine. Actually, I just did this to show off the game's only "Are You Sure?" moment. I have no idea what this is about, but Entropy is actually perfect anyway. We can maybe convince people our disintegration power is cosmic rather than technological, and it also has some meaning for me out-of-game.--- Herald's eyes narrow as he hears your name. "Entropy, huh?" "I am not in the habit of repeating myself." "Whatever…." Herald clenches his fists, refocusing himself on the fight. You've seen that before. You've done that before…pushing back the doubts and the fear, preparing to move forward instead of pulling back. The first step in a fight is always the toughest one to take. This time, you're not the one taking it. As if he senses your unspoken challenge, Herald takes to the air, accompanied by the gasps of the reporters. How would it feel to be able to fly? It must be nice to look down on things, to always have an avenue of escape open. To never feel trapped. That's a line of thought you don't need to pursue: envy is one thing, but daydreaming is quite another. You've already got more freedom than he does—the freedom of the mind. The freedom to not be tied to one body. Why would you ever wish for anything else? Still, out here he has a better advantage than before. Even more so, if he plays it smart and waits for backup. Perhaps he's thinking that he's invisible against the dark skies, indigo suit erasing his pale skin, the news choppers moving in to circle the scene like buzzards. Little does he know that even without focusing on his thoughts, you can track his progress through the helmet systems, little red pinpricks of light marking his flight path as you look up. More cameras have arrived at the scene, the media creeping into position to capture the coming battle. Good, no need to prolong this. Time to bring Herald down…all that remains is to decide how. I've brought down tougher people than him in a fair fight back when I was Sidestep. He's a hero, and I'm not. I'll use that against him. > Time to test those jump-jets…. Last time, I didn't have telepathic powers that were this strong. I want to save any overt telepathy for a harder fight. This kid should be easy pickings - and taking to the sky after him will look dramatic as hell for all these cameras.--- Herald is one of the reasons you asked Dr. Mortum to include jump-jets in the armored suit. So many of your fights as Sidestep consisted of luring people to strike you. This time, you will bring the fight to them. Hunching down slightly, you bring your armor to life around you. Indicators light up at the edge of your vision, power rerouting to legs and jump-jets. How will the armor perform under actual combat circumstances? You're not sure, but you won't get a better chance to try this out. Better Herald than Lady Argent, that's for sure. Overhead, the choppers are still circling. Herald is using them for cover, safe and sound in the knowledge that he can wait for his time to strike. Or so he thinks. Breaking into a run, your first leap brings you to an open spot free from rubble where you can activate the jump-jets without issue. Good. One step, two, and then the third is a leap upwards as you press the hidden switch in your glove. The faint heat of the jet exhausts firing makes your thermal sensors light up the moment before the acceleration kicks you in the gut. The armor goes rigid around your legs, bracing them for the leap, giving you perfect form so you won't be spiraling out of control. Luckily, you've done your share of acrobatics in the past, so you're not as lost as you could be. Still, your leap sends you past Herald, towards one of the choppers. Hell! "No!" Herald's scream is loud enough for you to hear through the onrushing wind. He accelerates, ramming you in mid-air. Oh well, that works too. He must have thought you were aiming for the chopper. "Fool!" You laugh as you wrap your arms around Herald, firing off the jump-jets once more and sending you both spiraling towards the ground. You're heavier than he is, and a lot better armored, so you make sure to steer both of you towards one of the parked cars below. The crash is powerful enough to make the warning lights flash inside your helmet. But Herald takes the brunt of the damage, and he lacks armor to absorb the impact. Shaking your head to loosen the rigid kinetic plates back into their usual flexibility, you get to your feet, brushing dust from your suit. Below you, the car is a ruined wreck. It's folded around the prone form of Herald, the impact lessened somewhat by the exploding airbags. You have won. --- Physical Status Stamina: You are rested. Willpower: You feel calm. Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds. Telepathy Strength of Mind: 63% Subtle Manipulations: 75% Armor Status Needs Repair: 0% ||| Fine: 100% --- So far, so perfect. Herald is down, we have our money, we have our audience, and our ace in the hole is still a secret. Let's hope it holds up when the rest come...
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Feb 12, 2020 15:54
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being able to pick your own villain name is a fun decision
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Feb 12, 2020 17:28
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I'm now convinced to buy this game, so good.
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Feb 12, 2020 17:56
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Can't wait to kick Ortega's rear end
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Feb 13, 2020 03:18
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Bought the game and I'm well on my way to becoming a Question to OP: is the game restricted to one device? A quick browse on the CoG forum didn't find anything about using it on multiple devices (phone and tablet).
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Feb 13, 2020 12:00
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By popular demand posted:Question to OP: is the game restricted to one device? A quick browse on the CoG forum didn't find anything about using it on multiple devices (phone and tablet). I've never tried. I just have it on my laptop.
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Feb 13, 2020 13:49
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if you buy a cog game directly from the website you can only play it there, i think. or at least i haven't figured out how. They also put them on Steam as a separate version, and i think if you buy from steam you can unlock it on your cog account. Presumably the same case if you buy on mobile? I'm not entirely sure. It all comes down to however Choice Of Games does it
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Feb 13, 2020 14:27
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Grudge Match Herald struggles to get loose, but the twisted metal has him trapped. His suit has been torn; there's blood streaking down his face, and from the way he winces, you imagine there are at least a few cracked ribs there. Maybe a dislocated shoulder. There's no strength in his movements, even though his struggle intensifies as you put your foot on his mangled form. The scream is a reward you had not expected—broken bones grinding together? Something sharp digging into his body? It doesn't matter, but it sure feels nice. This fight is over, and all that remains is the finishing blow. I will tell him exactly why he failed first. > No time to waste—I'll just knock him out. I'll make this painful; I want him to suffer. Come on, game. At least make the dumb villain options sound plausible.--- o matter how much you want to break Herald's confidence and tell him how futile his struggle is, right now it's more important to break his body. The clock is ticking, and the other Rangers can't be far away. "Time for a nap," you say with a snarl before kicking him hard in the head. Your boot is armored and heavy. The force of the kick snaps his head back against the wreckage. For a moment, you almost expect him to cling to consciousness, but his eyes roll back and his body goes limp. Good. Listening to the flashes of the cameras tells you that the next player has just walked onto the scene. "Get away from him, you scum." Ortega stands at the ready, fists raised. You can feel the low static hum of his mind now, blank and unknown. But even though you can't feel his thoughts, the fury and outrage is written clearly on his face. There's just the briefest of glances to make sure that Herald is alive, and then his attention is focused on you. It feels…odd. How long have you wanted him to look at you like this? Like a threat? No. Like an equal. Not somebody that needed protecting. That's Herald now, isn't it? The baby of the team. Another reason to hate him. "Are you supposed to be another of these so-called heroes?" you tease, gesturing to his tattered finery. "You are not dressed for the occasion." The suit is stained and dirty, and there's blood on his shirt that looks like it belongs to someone else. Did he not have time to change because he was busy rescuing people? Or is Herald simply the type to have his hero suit under his civilian clothes, just in case? "Really? Looks to me like I'm the only one here dressed to party." Ortega flashes you a smile, and you're suddenly very glad that he can't see you smile back. This is dangerous—you're too used to bantering with him. "I am not here to be entertained," you say, relying hard on your distorter to make your voice unrecognizable. "I am here to grind you into dust." "Well, good luck with that, then." The smile is still there, but he is slowly moving to the side, attempting to lure you away from Herald. This time you will let him lead the dance. Like he used to. But things are different now. Your armor is insulated, and that should protect you from most of his powers. But even with his best weapon neutralized, Ortega is a good, balanced fighter. So what will you rely on in this fight? >I rely on speed—I should be faster than him. I rely on the fact that he should not be able to hurt me. I rely on the fact that I know him and the way he fights. I'm tempted to go for the last option, but to be honest we didn't learn much as Jane. Better to try and win the fight on attributes rather than go for anything too tricky.--- Ortega was always fast—but you are confident that now, you are faster. The question is, will you be able to use the capabilities of your armor well enough? Soon you'll know. Ortega attacks first, driving you back with a flurry of blows that sends sparks flying as he tests the insulating capabilities of your armor. Around you, the floodlights from the hovering choppers slowly paint circles on the ground. You move with them to keep the light out of your eyes; your helmet would compensate, but old habits die hard. It feels…odd to be this in control. Hell, you really can do this, can't you? You let him think he's got your measure now; that way, he won't be prepared when you switch from defense to offense. Parry, parry, strike! The blow is fast enough to make him pull away, guard up. Good, he moves the way you predicted—and the next feint brings him further out of position so your kick makes contact at last, sending him skidding across the ground. That had to hurt. There's nothing to protect him from the impact, no skinsuit, no nanoweave armor. Just the torn finery, now with new tears and stains. Hope that wasn't a rental. Flashes go off like fireworks around the two of you, chronicling your fight. You wish you could say something smart to the cameras, but you don't want to risk losing focus. So for now, silence will do. That is probably more menacing anyway. Besides, even Ortega stops talking when nobody returns his quips, leaving the two of you locked in a tense dance of blows and counterblows. You could never have kept up with him back in the old days; he was stronger and faster, and without your telepathic edge, he always got the upper hand. Not that you fought in earnest; you just sparred. Not like now. --- The world slows down around you as you reroute power to the suit and truly start to move. One heartbeat. Two. Your blood feels electric. Your boots struggle to keep their grip on the concrete as you lengthen your step, covering the distance between you. One breath. Two. He keeps his eyes trained on you, dropping low to avoid your blow, breathing a curse as you leap over the sweep of his leg in return. This is what you've always loved about fighting with Ortega; there is a sense of balance and grace in the way you move together that other people might call effortless. Shows what they know—this is hardly without effort because you have to be more aware of your surroundings with no thoughts to steal intent from. Relying on your reflexes. On your body. They never bothered honing that, just your mind. Training your physical form was your first step towards freedom. A decision that you made. Nobody else. Just like it's your decision to send a fist flying at Ortega's face, only to have it batted aside. You parry the left hook you knew was coming, leaping back again to gain some distance. Ortega is smiling. >So am I. I am not. --- So are you. Luckily, it is hidden behind the helmet. The short laugh that slips out as you block one of his blows turns into a discordant growl as it passes through the vocal distorter. You had expected many things from this fight, but not that it should be this fun. It's a thrill to be able to match Ortega blow for blow, to be fast enough to parry his strikes—to have the reflexes needed to leap back and gain some distance, jump-jets knocking up enough dust to make him wipe the smile from his face. You're loving every second of it, and the cameras keep chronicling your fight, illuminated by kaleidoscopic sirens and roving floodlights. Crouching on top of a wrecked car, you see Ortega steadying himself. Is he winded? Bruised? Worn out? Smiling again, you make a theatrical gesture, your thumb raised to the heavens then turned down. Time to stop playing. Jumping down from the car, you clear the short distance to Ortega with a few easy leaps. He's ready for you—you can see it in his eyes. He thinks he knows what you can do now. Of course, he's wrong. He is also stalling. Keeping his distance, Ortega avoids your blows, eyes scanning the crowd. He's probably waiting for Lady Argent to show up. She left the party a while ago; does she even know something is wrong? If you're lucky, she's stuck in a cab somewhere. But even if she's not, you don't plan to give her time to show up. Instead, you press the attack, leaving an opening so Ortega can make a move for the more vulnerable spots on your armor. Just like you thought, he goes for it. The blow hurts, as he doesn't bother holding back. But you're able to grab his arm, yanking him closer before punching him hard in the face. You hear him cursing loudly in Spanish as he stumbles back, pressing a hand against his nose. Is it broken? Probably. "Mierda…" Ortega's voice is hoarse with pain as he glances back at the encroaching photographers. "If I were you, I'd consider backing up a bit." You hate the fact that he's still managing to look properly heroic for the cameras. As if you are somehow not enough of a threat to focus on. That annoys me. I'll threaten the reporters. I'm the one he should pay attention to. > I'll remain cool and detached. We aren't here to make a statement or demonstrate anything flashy. We have the money, so we win as long as we get away.--- The reporters don't matter. Ortega does. If he wants to clear the field, so be it. That's one of the things you never really thought about before: how hard it would be to remain cool with this much power. In the old days, you had to be careful because if you weren't, you would be dead. But now, you feel like everything around you is made of glass. It is such an effort not to smash it all. But that is why you need control and focus. Why you need to keep your eye on Ortega, not letting him distract you with things that do not matter. This is your fight. Your arena. "Don't think you'll get away with this." Ortega wipes some blood from his mouth, but you can see he is doing it with his left arm. The right one hangs awkwardly at his side. Interesting. That means that you have the advantage right now. The question is, what will you do with it? > I'll press my advantage, moving in fast and hard. I'd better be cautious—don't want to risk moving in too fast. Our advantage is speed, not durability. Let's crush him before anyone else enters the fray.--- You might as well get this over with fast and flashy. Not all the photographers have made a run for it, and you are very conscious of the cameras rolling. And he is slowing down…. Moving in fast, you launch into a series of attacks that Ortega is only barely able to deflect. The frustration you can feel in the way he fights is palpable, and you know that there can't be much left in him. With one arm down, he's struggling to avoid your blows, and with his electrical powers nearly useless, he's in trouble. A lot of trouble. In the old days, this is when you'd arrive to pull his fat out of the fryer, but it doesn't look like the rest of his team has your impeccable timing. Funny how that works. "You haven't even told me why you're doing this…." The words are gasped out. Ortega is out of breath now, and you have no plans to let him get it back. "That's right," you say almost casually, as your running kick hits home, sending him tumbling to the ground once more. "Maybe if you beg enough, I'll tell you." "Trust me, I'm not the begging type." Ortega's smirk hits you right in the stomach, sending you back in time to another fight. One where you were on the same side. Ortega had been on his knees, hands pressed against his stomach, trying to keep his guts from leaking all over the dusty factory floor. The Catastrofiend had been looming over him, sharp blades wet with blood, one of them gently lifting Ortega's chin so it could look him in the eyes. "..Be.g fo.r…me.rcy…" it had hissed in that weird, guttural growl. Ortega had laughed and the blades had pulled back to strike, and you had shot it in the back of its head with your stolen energy discharger. This time, you won't be there to save him. This time, you're the one he is too stupid to be afraid of, the one that breaks his nose and drives the air from his lungs with a well-placed knee. And still, he won't fall down. Once upon a time, you really admired that tenacity, but now it is starting to get irritating. Why won't he fall down? > Time to end this. I feel bad that I have to do this, but… --- Checking your internal timer, you realize you are moving too slowly. The clock is ticking; the longer you keep playing, the more time there will be for your plans to be countered. Ortega is trying to delay you, that's all. You should have seen this coming; you know his tricks. And that's why you will win this. Because you won't let him goad you into being stupid. Time to get serious. The next time Ortega moves in for a feint, you take a moment to read the expression on his face, trying to figure out what is going on inside his head. Trying to see what he's planning. You know him. You know him well. You can see the labored breath, the eyes focused directly on you, the way he reacts to every single move you make. He… …He is trying to figure out who you are. One you've recognized the look in his eyes, you curse yourself for not spotting it sooner. The way he moves, the way he tries out attacks as if he's more interested in seeing your reaction than his own results. Hell. Can't have that. You feel your insides go cold. The next time Ortega moves in for an attack, you counter hard. Kicking him squarely in the chest, you send him flying backwards, skidding across the asphalt until he comes to a stop, crumpled body resting against a piece of broken concrete. There's a moment when you're almost waiting for him to get up again to continue the fight. But thankfully, there's no movement. No, that's not true. There's the smallest twitch of his hand. Looks like Ortega is still conscious. --- You take a moment to brush some of the less-than-imaginary dust from your armor. It gives you a moment to collect yourself and check the status of your suit. Mostly green, some orange warning indicators, but nothing that impacts the main functions. You can still fight—which, at this point, is all that really matters. The camera flashes have stopped now, the reporters having backed away once they realized the battle was going badly for their hero. The bright circles of light from the hovering choppers are still tracing you, following you like spotlights as you walk over to Ortega's prone body. Still alive. You can see him struggling for breath, probably with a few cracked ribs. You can relate. "Who are you?" Ortega's question is hardly louder than a whisper, but to your ears it might as well be a shout. That's the question, isn't it? I launch into an angry monologue about that, true villain style. > I need to end this fast. I find myself hesitating for the first time. Hopefully our clean efficiency isn't giving away our identity. A false monologue might throw him off the trail, but we're already behind schedule. We can't afford to follow our usual rule of letting our interrogator hear exactly what they're ready to accept.--- This is just another trick to keep you talking. You know that. You've seen it before. This is why things will be different for you than for the other would-be villains out there. You know what to do. You can keep your head together and play it cool. You can be that. In control. All it takes is another kick to send Ortega over the edge to unconsciousness, his body going limp in that particular way that is so hard to fake. You give his body another poke with your toe, but there's no response. Good. If you're not mistaken, Lady Argent should be here soon. --- Physical Status Stamina: You are rested. Willpower: You feel calm. Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds. Telepathy Strength of Mind: 63% Subtle Manipulations: 75% Armor Status Need Repair: 0% ||| Fine: 100% --- So far, so good. We've made it this far without using our own powers. The suit is holding up. The question is: Do we want to fight Lady Argent this way too, or is it time to unleash our telepathy? 24 to 48 hours, 2 hour warning will apply.
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Feb 15, 2020 19:39
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Sorites posted:I will tell him exactly why he failed first. I Chose the first option in my game which was dumb but entertaining. also, Telepathy
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Feb 15, 2020 20:04
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Telepathy. If her skin is actually silver, and we have to resort to the nanites, it may straight up kill her. Right now the only black marks on our record are explosive property damage, theft, and working over some capes, but we haven't killed anyone yet. If the nanites wouldn't kill her, then going toe-to-toe with her would probably end badly for our suit.
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Feb 16, 2020 05:27
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Hell yeah take that Ortega Vote for long fight with Argent
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Feb 16, 2020 17:08
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fight fight fight
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Feb 16, 2020 17:23
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Fight. Our psychic powers are our secret weapon; something which we would normally be using here. However, poking around Lady Argent's brain might conjure up memories of back when we were getting the nanovores. We convinced Lady Argent that was the fault of Locus, and it shouldn't take much for Lady Argent to think that's who is in the suit. But we aren't Locus. We could maintain cover and pretend to actually be Locus, but pretending to be a missing person we didn't know much about isn't likely to hold up to scrutiny. Worst case scenario, Lady Argent would be able to connect the dots and think there's something suspect about Sidewinders "help" earlier. Of course, can't connect the dots if we don't leave any hints.
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Feb 16, 2020 17:59
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Personally I feel like the smart move would be to leave now. But apparently that's not an option? I'm not super sanguine about either approach to Argent - not using our psychic powers might mean we either lose or have to hurt her to the point where the heroes are potentially out for our blood and/or the spooky spec ops people get called in. Using our psychic powers gives away that we have them, and risks Argent twigging to us having previously hijacked her body, and that we aren't Locus, as Arcanuse says. But I expect we'd probably win more decisively. My one complaint with this is that I still don't quite have a sense of why we want to hurt the heroes so bad, so my instincts are fully about being a successful criminal, not enacting vengeance.
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Feb 16, 2020 18:25
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The problem I have with the "using psychic powers may make her realize we are the ones that hosed with her originally" is that... we're using the nanites we hijacked her to steal anyways. We know that we have other ways to fight psychically other than just hijacking her body, or we can just overwhelm her mind and cause her to black out (I think we had that as an option against someone else before this, right?). We know that we're stronger than her mentally.
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Feb 16, 2020 20:21
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malkav11 posted:My one complaint with this is that I still don't quite have a sense of why we want to hurt the heroes so bad, so my instincts are fully about being a successful criminal, not enacting vengeance. This is our coming out party, so there's a bit of "first day on the prison yard" going on - if we're going to make it as a card-carrying supervillain, we can't be seen just taking the money and running. That's a quick and easy route to the permanent small-time.
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Feb 16, 2020 22:42
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| # ? May 3, 2024 05:05 |
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Sorites posted:This is our coming out party, so there's a bit of "first day on the prison yard" going on - if we're going to make it as a card-carrying supervillain, we can't be seen just taking the money and running. That's a quick and easy route to the permanent small-time. We already trashed two of the heroes pretty decisively. Would we make a bigger splash if we do the same with Argent? Sure, but I don't think we need to. Anyway, it doesn't sound like we have the option to leave, so it's a moot point.
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Feb 17, 2020 02:09
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