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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Yay!

Yay for vacations! I want a vacation.

Posted on 2007-08-22 at 04:21:08.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: Nothing more?

Monty listened attentively to the answers given for both his and the Chief's--In that outfit!?--questions. It seemed fairly straight forward, a simple recon mission turning to a search and rescue. They had four hours to prepare...four hours to get familiar with each other, and then another four to six (depending) of flight time. And though the 1st Lieutenant didn't turn to look at his team, he mentally summed up their appearances. Aside from the Chief, there didn't appear to be any anomalies.

One last question still hung in the back of his mind, but he was sure it would be less than civil to ask after it in front of the others, and the Army had likely already thought to provide him with the answers in some form or another. Four hours wasn't much time to go over team members dossier, but it was all he'd have, if that.

When the Colonel dismissed them, Monty rose sharply from his seat and offered a crisp salute, then turned in a more relaxed fashion and moseyed from the room. He was caught up in his thoughts just outside the door by some of the team members...the medic, Corporal Johannsen, and Sgt. Lee introducing themselves and asking after orders.

Monty paused, as was his way, considering the team and what might be the best course of action at this point with the limited time they had on their hands. Having basically been forged in the heat of combat, he relished the opportunities peace time afforded him to consider his actions without just acting on impulse. Unfortunately, in this situation, that seemed to open a door for the Staff Sergeant to take charge. Cocking his head to the side like a bemused puppy, Monty leaned against the wall and watched the reception the NCO received. It was usually the sergeant's duty to keep everything in order while the officers weren't around, but when an officer was present, and the officer had not clearly handed authority over to the sergeant, it was usually good manners to await instruction from "on high". Monty waited until the sergeant had finished, never of the mind that you dress down leadership in front of the team, and then calmly accepted the big man's invitation to join him and the Chief off to the side, nodding his farewells to the rest of the team and returning salutes as appropriate.

“Blake your rank says you’re a Chief Warrant and normally I could respect that but you strike me as one piss poor officer. Now I know you 'Out rank' me but your not in my chain of command on this mission so listen very carefully to what I am saying. You will by 07:30 have on a proper military uniform, boots, cap, the works. You will have whatever weapon they issue you--god help us if its more then a 9 mil--cleaned and disassembled and ready to be reassembled in front of me. You will prove to me that you belong on this mission and will not get in the way of a successful completion of such. Lt. anything you want to say before I dismiss her.”

Monty raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, "Oh, so you're letting me speak now Sergeant?" Turning from the other man he looked down at Blake.

"Chief, Sgt. Kane's right about one thing at least: you're a far cry from regulation, and that usually spells trouble for the team. You buck the System in the Cool, what're you going to do in the Heat? Savvy? Only thing is, the Colonel let it slide, so he must know something I don't, and in Military Speak that means I gotta respect his decision for putting you on my team. Make no mistake, Chief. You and I are gonna have to come to an understanding, and we've got less than four hours to do so. As such, I'm gonna amend the Sergeant's 'orders' and state this much: when you get your gear together you'll meet me in the mess hall proper. I'll expect you no later than 0800 hours." Monty paused just a moment to read her expression before stating, "Dismissed."

When she'd left, he turned back to the man who'd practically absconded his command and stared into the big man's eyes, his own slightly narrowed for a moment as he assessed Kane a little further. Was this staff sergeant power hungry? Was there going to be command conflict? Or was he just trying to be efficient?

"Walk with me a moment Sergeant."

Monty turned and made his way from the room. He continued in silence until he was outside, fully expecting Staff Sergeant Kane to follow as instructed. This was, after all, the military so as far as Monty was concerned, Kane didn't have much choice in the matter.

"Sergeant Kane," Monty said in a calm drawl once they'd set foot outside. "We got ourselves a problem. See? You've just done two things that could get you in serious piles of horse sh*t with me an' we've barely said two words to each other.

"I've got this mantra, ya know? Like a code that I work within at all times. It's kinda like my Ranger's Code, savvy? Well, it don't allow for much in the way of burning bridges immediately, and it won't much allow for me to think the worst of an individual until I've more time for them to sh*t on my shoes. As such, I'll tell you what I'm not gonna do, and then I'll follow that up by what I am gonna do, and then, I'll tell you what you're gonna do."

Monty continued to walk at a slow, leisurely pace as he addressed the bigger man, taking in the sights, watching as squads trotted by on exercise, stopping at a curb to allow a large, brown truck to rumble past. He even paused in his rhetoric to allow what he'd said to sink in for a moment.

"I'm not gonna assume you are out to undermine my command, Sergeant. Instead, I'm gonna assume you were trying to be efficient and I'm going to let that little show of authority back there slide with little more than this said; I am a hands on Looey, Sarge, and I'll be more than happy to let you know when, and if, I need your assistance to get the team pulled together.

"Now, here's what you're gonna do: You're gonna apologize to the Chief, to her face, in front of the rest of the team, because I'll be damned if some staff sergeant knows better than a colonel as far as team placement is concerned, and I'll be damned again if I'm gonna let that little display of disrespect for a senior officer destroy what chances of success we have on this mission. What's more is I don't know who's ass you pulled that bit about her not being in your chain-of-command out of, but as near as I remember Chiefs outrank Staff Sergeants, so because of your little conflagration you'll be making your apology in front of the whole team."

Monty turned and stopped their progress by stepping in front of Staff Sergeant Kane. "I'll have the chain-of-command respected on my team, Sergeant. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?

"Now, since you summarily dismissed my team before I had a chance to give instructions, you'll gather up your gear and spend the next while pulling the team together at the mess hall by 0900 hours. Dismissed!"

Without anything further to say, Lt. Kernan strode purposefully away from the man he'd just put in his place. His destination was quickly fulfilled as he returned to his quarters, made sure his gear was in place, packed it about himself, and made his way to the Mess Hall Proper where he was to meet Chief WO Blake.

Posted on 2007-08-22 at 01:30:36.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Move along!

Wyatt made sure to find other things to be doing during the funeral. He could understand people getting mixed up in something that wasn’t good and not understanding until it was too late, but he had a hard time forgiving the violence they’d brought with them. As far as he was concerned, the Fultons were reminders of who he really was despite the front he demonstrated. His quarters were a good escape.

He’d offered the Marakovs to Ash, the shotgun to Dash, and told everyone that they were going to sell the magnum the first chance they got to add to the ship’s finances. The gatling wasn’t worth the effort so Wyatt had left it in the hands of the ranchers. He’d done the same with the armor—Alliance Luh Suh.

The captain had taken Sam’s answer to his question in stride. He didn’t really need to know what the man’s history was, but, as the intel departments in the military would have said, ‘The more you know…” It was fully feasible that Ludlow had been there for something other than Sam as he’d claimed. After all, he’d lied to get on the Fulton’s boat, and he’d apparently lied to Kenny, costing the boy his life. All that lying had cost the man his life eventually. So be it. Wyatt had let the line of questioning fade into the Black. Besides which, time had come to load up and git, and with the Fulton’s help they’d managed pretty well, getting the crates of ice on board Rocinante without difficulty. That’s when everything turned upside down.

“Captain, it has been a good time with you and the crew, but it is time for me to leave. Rocinante has been my home for awhile now, but well, I think I may have found a new home now.” Kora tries to hold back tears unsuccessfully. “Besides, with these flashbacks of mine, and the freezing up, I’m going to put you and Roc in danger one day. Remember Mack? The guy who helped us on that job, friend of Dash? He’s on Regina and I know he’d jump at the chance to sign on.”

Wyatt had been about ready to board, the others lingering around the cargo bay door ready to say their farewells to the miners when Kora had touched his arm to get his attention. Though the captain’s face remained a screen of calm, and his nod effectively said, ‘whatever’, the lump in his throat and the sudden pit in his belly was a testament to his feelings on the matter. He glanced towards Sam and Jim—the Fultons he ignored—and then back to the beautiful face of the mechanic he’d come to love as family.

“Well,” he drawled. “Can’t say that this doesn’t surprise me. Kora, you know I weren’t concerned none ‘bout your freezin’ up. Willow’d have you fixed up in no time. You was already doing better. But I ain’t never been the type to force someone t’ stay where they no longer want t’ stay.”

The captain then turned and boarded Rocinante, moving quickly through the hold, up the stairs, down the hall, and into the cockpit. Alone, he dropped into the co-pilot seat and stared out into the tail end of the comet. His mind flew faster than the speed of light as he considered her words, her new-found life, what they would miss, the absence of a voice he’d come to associate with his life… after a few seconds, he snatched up the mic and pressed the intercom button.

“Anytime today, Dash. We got cargo t’ deliver.”

Setting the mic back in its cradle, Wyatt shifted his thoughts, more out of necessity than desire. He thought back to a conversation he’d had with Sam just as they were finalizing the deal inside the shattered house.

“Listen Wyatt,” Sam had said, “Bailey wanted me to warn you that the Alliance has set up a blockage on Regina. It is the mining consortium trying to pressure the independent mine owners to work by their rules. Now they are watching but they can’t be everywhere at once. Figure a good pilot would be able to slip by without them noticing. This came up sudden like, before he could warn you. They are in dire need for this ice, so I’m sure Bailey will make good for you."

Blockades, the Consortium, it was sounding an awful lot like the war and the runs he’d made. They’d have no problems if they kept their heads about them.

After they’d detached from the comet Wyatt and Dash had worked to plot their course and using their knowledge of possible military and police blockade actions they’d spent some time discussing possible avenues for dealing with the Consortium. Then dinner time rolled around and Trish summoned them all with the clanking of a bell.

Seated at the head of the table, Wyatt decided to quickly head off any discussion that might arise concerning Kora, his eyes focusing on the kitten that seemed to have come out of nowhere and had taken to perching on Trish’s shoulder like some damnable parrot.

“All right, we ain’t provisioned for another mouth t’ feed, nor is the systems in place t’ deal with… that. Hair all over the place n’ such. What’s more is it appears t’ be someone’s pet gone astray, what with that fancy pretty about its neck. An’ judgin’ by the bauble there, I’d assume it was someone who took a position o’ like t’ the creature. So, we’ll put a lost n’ found poster up on the Feed as soon as we can… maybe it’ll fetch us a bit of a reward.”

After the discussion with about the cat, Wyatt turns to matters of business.

“We’ll connect with this Mack fellow soon as possible, but there’s something the lot o’ you should know. There’s a blockade ‘tween us and dirt. So there’s gonna be some runnin’ an’ that means we need t’ be prepared. Make sure everything’s secured an’ see what we can do about any rattlin’ as we’ll need t’ run silent when we get close. Any questions?”

Posted on 2007-08-18 at 18:56:44.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Sorry for the late post

Char had acknowledged Maximus' presence with barely a nod as he crept forward and up, and then the rumbling and the splatter... Blinking away the urge to squint at the form, the woodsman frowned in realization, and then the rumbling again. Looking up the stairs, he failed to notice Dapple moving in and attempting to squeeze past the two of them. Brief words were exchanged and the "lad" was suddenly through and moving up the stairs (OOC: assuming Roger let's it go that far).

"By all dat is..." Char muttered in surprise, quickly moving after the rogue. That splattered Imperial must've unsettled him more than he'd realized, to allow Da' Moon to skit and skattle before he was moving. Yer fallin' down, Char-lad. Bes' pick i' up 'gin.

Visions of these green tree-men, only larger, filled his head as he quickly ascended the stairs, still in an effort to remain hidden, though not so concerned with the silent part due to the commotion that was raging above. Whatever was happening, it couldn't be good.

Posted on 2007-08-18 at 18:26:08.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Primary and Secondary Weapon Choice

Monty will take the M6A1 Carbine and the M13 Pistol.

Tann, I believe that all of the Rangers will have a standard operating package of gear that Olan will fill us in on, and that includes the armor. I believe that he was just wanting to know our weapon preference.

I may have jumped the gun, but I had some very elusive free time hit me today so I posted.

Posted on 2007-08-18 at 18:15:27.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: Guess I'll start this off...

Monty had woken early, as was always the case, and had gone through his routine of exercises with the efficiency of habit. He'd dressed in his neatly pressed uniform, made sure his Velcro patches were properly in placed as he inspected his appearance in front of the bathroom mirror and then stared into his own hazel eyes. There was an expression of seriousness about his face, but his eyes shown through like windows to his soul: excitement, anticipation, laughter... He'd received the docket containing the basics mission information the afternoon before while leaving the rifle range--delivered by a young private who looked intimidated to be in the presence of a Ranger. It had been simple information; a volunteer mission that involved hazard pay. He was to show up in Colonel Lucas' office the next morning bright and early for a briefing.

There'd been many of these types of missions over his career, and Monty had volunteered for every one he could. He thrived on the adrenaline that accompanied the moments just before insertion, the pounding of his heart reminded him of just how alive he was. He'd often heard of adrenaline junkies who needed that rush to confirm they were alive, and he'd dismissed them as fools. When bullets were flying and dusting the ground all around you; mortality was only too close. Monty had never needed the adrenaline to remind him that he was alive--he used it to remind him not to take life for granted.

Raking his hand through his nearly shaved brown hair, the ranger settled his BDU cap on his head and took one last look at himself before allowing a quick smile to flash, white in the tanned flesh of his face. Turning sharply on his heel, the soldier made his way from his apartment to the street where, in the cool of the morning, he hoofed it to the command offices.

As was his MO, Monty arrived fifteen minutes early. He didn't take a seat in the waiting room where a Lieutenant had met his arrival with a nod and then had gone back to his duties. No, Monty rarely sat when he could stand. Now, he studied a painting of horses racing across a brown field that hung between two windows overlooking the exercise field outside of the command office where hundreds of soldiers were gathering in their platoons for their morning maneuvers. The scene reminded him of a life he'd left behind, long ago.

Slowly, the others he assumed would be a part of the team arrived, and Monty quickly realized he was the ranking officer. He greeted every one of them with a nod and a shake of the hand once the saluting was over with. Of all of them, the one who caused him to raise his brow was a female wearing a plaid skirt over black leggings... completely out of uniform. If the Colonel had asked her here then Monty wouldn't question it. Hell, he didn't even know if she were military. He was sure it would all be explained when they'd had their briefing.

Eventually, the lieutenant at the desk got up and checked with the Colonel to see if he was ready, then ushered them into the room. Monty went to the seat that had been indicated and reluctantly planted himself in it: he'd, again, preferred to stand, but when a colonel of the U.S. Army told him to do, he did.

The Colonel went through the standard greeting for this type of meeting, a greeting that covered the responsibility of their ranks and positions, then went right into the meat of it. Monty listened very carefully and when the Colonel offered up the floor, the 1st Looey gave a brief nod.

"Actually Sir, I do have some questions." When the Colonel had acknowledged him, Monty continued, and despite his clear, concise way of speaking, a hint of a Western drawl could be heard. "Where will our LZ be? Right on the facility's tarmac, or are we hoofing it in a ways? Are there any known hostiles in the area? What kind of security does the R&D facility have? What kind of communication do we have at our disposal? Is everything at the complex associated with Project Twilight Seed, or are we going to have to determine what's what once we secure the facility? And lastly, what's our plan of extraction and clock?"

Posted on 2007-08-18 at 18:12:20.
Edited on 2007-08-18 at 18:15:58 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: On the Road Again

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am

DigitalScribe raised his eyebrows for a bit during Croaker’s discourse, but that was the only change to his placid expression as he lay back against the vibrating wall of the van Bull’s Eye was taking out of the lot. He was still working the camera free of its bindings and as the nomad finished up, the media started to place the camera in his bag.

“All right, Choomba,” Frankie gave his friend a cock-eyed grin that oozed charisma. “We’ll play the game your way. Only, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep me and Guardian around for a bit. You know, after the bullets started flying we found something vested in this morning’s activities.”

The van slowed at the gate. In the distance—barely audible over the rumble of the van and the raging storm—came the sound of sirens. The gate opened as though the mechanism controlling it were too weak to move fast, and then Bull’s Eye was gunning the engine again and shifting gears while spinning the oversized wheel to the right, away from the Hole.

Preacher gingerly lifted his hat from his head and studied the holes through the metal plating on the inside. “Damn…” he muttered as Peacekeeper bent and somewhat distractedly began to probe at the painful rivets in his temple. “Careful, Woman,” The solo growled as he moved to bat her hand away. “That’s a bit tender right now. I ‘ppreciate your attention, but ain’t Firewind a medic?”

Bull’s Eye hadn’t had to wait for traffic to hit the concrete, and he wasn’t paying much mind to the speed limits for the moment. Lightning flashed across the windscreen causing all of the rolling droplets of rain to momentarily light up with brilliance usually reserved for diamonds. The van rocked from a rather ferocious gust of wind worming its way through two buildings, and then the nomad was turning onto a one-way lane heading south.

By this time, Spiff’s conversation was over and the fixer—apparently oblivious to Croaker’s displeasure—was now using his phone to text while Firewind was getting into the nitty-gritty of aiding the wounded team member.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am

Posted on 2007-08-18 at 17:45:50.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Huh?

Say-uv-uh? Sah-veh? Saf-fe? I don't know what you're talking about.

Posted on 2007-08-18 at 01:40:32.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Ain't you a bit young

Ain't you a bit young to be worrying about double-shifts?

We'll be patient.

Posted on 2007-08-17 at 02:55:06.

Topic: An alternate sci-fi game?
Subject: Aight an' all dat

I couldn't resist. I submitted.

Posted on 2007-08-17 at 02:53:41.

Topic: An alternate sci-fi game?
Subject: Hmmm... Interesting...

Maybe... just maybe...

Posted on 2007-08-16 at 14:12:29.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Yup it is and Nope

Those all constitute flesh wounds. Wounds that don't penetrate bone or vitals and don't debilitate.

I believe I missed that one vital point when I wrote up my post. Raven told me Guardian would follow DS's orders and put his gun away so it is all resolved.

Posted on 2007-08-14 at 14:16:21.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Great drama

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am

Preacher’s lip curled as he swallowed his pain and rose a little too quickly to his feet. The ruts along his scalp had been close. He wasn’t fooling himself. If he hadn’t had the extra armor plating put into his hat, he’d had been a dead cowboy right there.

“Thanks,” he growled to Croaker, though his obvious anger wasn’t intended for the nomad. He’d figured he’d beat the gangers and hadn’t considered them being too accurate. It had nearly cost him his life. It was that same stupid overconfidence that had put an end to the Three Muskateers.

Croaker made to sling his arm about the solo, but Preacher waved him off. He realized that he must’ve looked the sight, but there wasn’t any time for unnecessary weakness. “I’ll live, providin’ we hoof it out of here ‘fore reinforcements arrive.”

That’s when he saw Peacekeeper and Firewind making their way back to him. Bless them, he thought as he took a deep, stinging breath to ward off the dizzy, sick feeling that the head wounds were causing. Then, tough as a cowboy from a flat-vid, Preacher took off running back towards the waiting vehicle, Croaker on his heels.

Within moments the solo had settled on the floor of the van where he closed his eyes and breathed deeply again, his teeth clenched. “We got her? We got the bird?”

For his part, DigitalScribe was impressed with the man’s strength. The solo looked as though he was losing blood by the gallon, but a good portion of that was watered down from the rain. None-the-less, the media was more than a little impressed. He knew they’d be on their way now that everyone was to the van, but where to exactly? That was the question. It’ll happen whether you’re focused on it, or not, Frankie. Might as well do something productive. Working the straps of his camera, the media began to dismount it from his shoulder.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am

Posted on 2007-08-13 at 05:13:31.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Oh.

Math was never my strong point.

OK, great action, but Preacher had a flesh wound and could act on his own. Obviously, head wounds bleed like a mother... so the lot of you probably wouldn't be able to tell right off the bat. Even Firewind will likely have to check closely to make sure.

Your move.

Posted on 2007-08-13 at 04:56:52.
Edited on 2007-08-13 at 05:15:52 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Not much longer...

I won't wait much longer to post, so if you've got access to these players who aren't posting, let's get them to the boards and posting please.

Posted on 2007-08-12 at 17:05:57.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Hey, no problem

With the writing deadline I've had and trying to put together Flash tutorials for my department at work, I've been working from 7:30am to 1:30pm some nights. Not a whole lot of time to post anyway, so as far as I'm concerned I haven't been waiting on anything.

Posted on 2007-08-12 at 17:05:05.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Sorry to hear about the death.

My condolences to the family Roger and Cathy.

Posted on 2007-08-02 at 19:56:46.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Yeah?

I seem to remember a few exploding arrows a while back. There wasn't any excuses there... *realizes he's opening too many doors* Not that I mind. I mean, Char could go this whole adventure without any further injury and I wouldn't complain. Nor would I rub it in the faces of those less fortunate. I promise.

Posted on 2007-07-31 at 00:46:19.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: You're still in.

No problem. You're still in.

Posted on 2007-07-31 at 00:43:56.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Yeah.

Yup. It was seen.

Posted on 2007-07-29 at 17:38:17.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Plan making.

Sam Hawkes voice answered Wyatt’s instructions instead of the mechanic’s, “Kora is helping Miss Willow. For pity sakes Captain Wyatt, can’t we leave them their dignity? It is so little to ask yet sometimes it is all that separates us from them.”

Wyatt glanced at the man as though he were using his brainpan to fry eggs instead of think, and then shrugged. “This is still your house, Sam.”

Not nearly as confident as he would have been with Kora watching his back, Wyatt makes his way out to the porch and listens to their explanation of how they’d wound up at the Lullaby. Now, Wyatt had known his fair share of dangerous criminals, as a matter-of-fact, some would consider him to be one in some instances, and despite his raging mind, the captain just couldn’t see Sam Hawkes as a dangerous criminal. It didn’t fit none. And even if it did, these misbegotten backwoods folk had just hurt what was his to protect. That alone made him awful unforgiving despite their loss. Wyatt kept skipping back and forth between reminders of how he had felt upon finding Summer and Eden to wanting to end their wasteful lives then and there and be done with it. In the end, it was the memory of his wife and daughter that brought him around.

“All right,” he drawled coolly. “I ain’t one bit pleased about the fact that the lot of you happened in on our business dealings when you did, and what’s more is that I ain’t at all pleased with being shot at, much less having my crew being blown up. Seeing how this isn’t my mine, however, you’ve just found yourselves some saving grace.

“I’m gonna tell you once what you’re gonna do next, an’ only once. Dohn-ma?” Without waiting for them to confirm an understanding, the captain continues. “You’ll return to your ship and sit pretty quiet an’ still in your galley until we figure out whether you’re going to be the ones to make up for the damages here, or not. If I so much as see red-hair in the next while I’ll blast it clean through before I ask any questions. Now git!”

(OOC: assuming there isn’t any resistance… if there is, I’ll retrace my steps.)

After the lot of them had returned sniveling to their ship, Wyatt drops from the porch and approaches the mad man who’d caused them so much grief. The man’s legs were buckled under him, his black eyes staring up at the simulated sky, the gat he’d used to pepper the house pointing back towards the bay door. There was a single bullet hole visible in his forehead, not clean through the center like a circus sharp-shooter could have done, but off to the side a bit. It had worked though, in combination with the other rounds. Standing over the corpse as he was, Wyatt popped the empty shells from the cylinder and thumbed new ones into place before holstering the weapon. Stepping over the dead man, the captain searched the body over, complete with pulling the boots and looking for hidden pockets in the hems of clothing and in the back sides of belts. Gathering up everything of consequence that he finds, Wyatt returns to the house, dropping the weapons on the tabletop and turning to Sam Hawkes with a level gaze that belied the pain he felt in his shoulder.

“They said you was a criminal, Sam. Now,” he held up a hand to forestall anything by way of protest, or explanation, from the man and continued. “That’s none of my concern. What is my concern is that I’ve got crew who are cut up and bruised, an’ you’ve got a partner that needs some lookin’ after. You’ve also got a pack of mongrels hanging out on your doorstep with a broke-down ship that ain’t goin’ nowhere soon. So, the way I look at things, is that we’ve some decision-makin’ to do.

“My suggestion is that you an’ Jim should take their ship by way of payment for the trouble here. You can chose to keep the crew if’n you want, but I’d suggest that anyone stupid enough t’ fall in with that three-eyed corpse out yonder might not be worth their weight in manure… of course, they might be worth something to you on the cargo end and it might work out—“ Wyatt paused as though saying the next part was difficult. “—you using them to run cargo for you an’ all. It’d provide some half-wits with an honest job and give you and Jim somethin’ extra by way of ownership. Either way, I’ll back ya up so long as I’m here.

“Speakin’ of which, once Willow’s looked after everyone, we’ll be beatin’ a quick path to the Black providin’ everything’s decent an’ all. We’re already on a tight schedule t’ meet that delivery date of yours. I don’t wanna leave no one in a lurch though, so we’ll do what we can t’ help while we load up. I’ll just have t’ check in with the crew to see which o’ them can exercise.”

Wyatt looked down at the weaponry and then back up at Sam Hawkes. “Well?”

Posted on 2007-07-28 at 20:52:38.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: All righty then...

Well, choombattas, the ruling is in. Croaker, for not knowing how to use a submachine gun, you may very well have saved Preacher's life. Obviously, this depends a lot on what happens next because the Wild Things have plenty more where these first few came from. You get an IP in submachine gun! Congrats.

I made a couple of assumptions. Bullseye and Firewind have each used one action already. Bullseye, to spin about with his Llama Comanche at the sound of the gunfire in the back, and Firewind to draw his Baretta. This doesn't mean you don't get additional actions, just keep in mind that every additional action past the first is resolved with a cumulative -3 modifier.

I was going to take you through to the end of the gunfight, but the exchange at the van needs resolution before I do. Bring it about gatos... you've a bird to deliver.

Posted on 2007-07-28 at 20:23:17.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: A lot of exploding heads... the dice must like you today.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am

Crouched in the rain, the solo kept the submachine gun at ready, his eye sighting along the slick, black length. He could easily make out the inert form of the ganger Coyote at the end, but it wasn’t to this that he focused. For around that corner he saw two of the Wild Things stick head and shoulders out bearing handguns while three more sprinted across the alley’s mouth, water splashing up from their boot heels. His boosterware was a constant, forcing him to practice slower movements so as to appear natural when he didn’t want it to show. Now, however, he was letting loose, and with smooth movements Preacher had corrected his aim and squeezed off a three round burst. The rounds took the first ganger up the chest and exploded his head; the corpse falling back onto the pavement, his arms wind-milling, his weapon begin flung into the street.

“Part of the deal is no cameras. I’ve got way too much riding on this to have that thing frack it up.”

DigitalScribe continued to point his handgun at the other man’s head, and with a mental command, disengaged the camera. Why the media blackout? he wondered as Spiff finished holstering his weapon.

“Let me pay for the repairs on that thing. In exchange, I don’t want to see any of this on the morning news if you know what I mean.” The fixer gave his pockets a quick pat and snarled, “Frack! I hope she gets back her quick.”

It took seconds for Guardian to clear the stairs and reach the van. He’d always been fast despite his bulk, and with the Sandevistan activated, he was on the top of his game. His quick pause at the mouth of the van caused water to cascade from his shoulders and spray those within.

“Scribe,” the bodyguard instructed as Frankie looked up at him through squinting eyes, his left hand raised to shield him from the sudden torrent of rain.. “Keep your piece aimed at his head.”

DigitalScribe glanced back to where the fixer lay looking at his watch, apparently unconcerned with the arrival of the large black man. “You will hand over your gun to Scribe now. I will not ask again.”

The corner of Frankie’s mouth twitched a little upward as it struggled to smile, but the media’s attention momentarily shifted to see how the driver and Firewind were handling the change of events. Either one of them could really frack this up, and to the media, the potential for a huge story was growing with every passing second.

“It’s all good—be chilled, Guardian,” Frankie’s tone was non-plussed, though he secretly worried about the condition of the camera. It was battle-ready, but you never know what kind of ammunition a person was using, and armor piercing rounds were more and more common these days. The media’s voice was calming, and not just intended for the bodyguard, but for everyone in the van as he relaxed, rolling his handgun back in his hand and dropping his arm to his side. “We just needed to config an understanding here, is all. Everything is chilled now.”

As soon as the dead weight of Guardian had left her, Peacekeeper used the railing to hoist herself to her feet and take advantage of the situation her lover had arranged. Out of habit more than anything else, the bounty hunter quickly scanned the destruction in the room as she rapidly descended the stairs hot on the bodyguard’s heels. The apartment hadn’t been in great shape to begin with—things rarely are when under the care of boostergangs—but it was a shambles now. The couch behind which the gangers had been positioned was on its back, smoldering. The bodies of the gangers were strewn about, some with lacerated limbs, some smoking as much as the couch. A chunk of the floor was missing and the whole space about the couch was a blackened shadow. At least two were rolling about in obvious pain, one stood near the door, a girl about eighteen or nineteen. She had some black smeared across her cheek, her bright pink and black hair was disheveled and hung in her face. She wore a black leather trench coat that was obviously armored, had nose piercings with chains running across her cheeks to her ears, and was raising a Militech Mini-Gat submachine gun in the slow motion action that non-boosted users make when facing down boosted edgerunners. Guardian had passed by quick, without even looking into the room, but Peacekeeper saw it and reacted quickly as she continued on her way.

There was no pause, no hesitation, the threat was there and it didn’t matter that it was a teenager. Peacekeeper’s arm crossed her body, the submachine gun hanging at her left side while she brought her .44 up at chest level and she squeezed off a single round. She’d never been partial to submachine guns… too messy, but in this situation, she’d accepted the weapon for the full auto capabilities; best to be able to spray an area filled with boostergangers with hot lead than try to be clean and precise. The bounty hunter continued down the stairs as the ganger’s brains painted the door and Peacekeeper was out of sight of the scene even before the girl’s body had hit the floor. Moments later, the beautiful, dangerous woman was passing Croaker at a dead run, giving him a look with her eyes that spoke volumes and yet was nearly unreadable. She arrived not half a second behind Guardian and was momentarily taken aback by the sudden trouble in the van. Sure, she harbored no good will for the media, but they had bigger fish to fry, and now, Guardian was holding Spiff at gunpoint, and DigitalScribe was saying something about everything being chilled.

From the driver’s seat, Bullseye frowned as he watched the alley behind them through the side mirrors. He was basically oblivious to the upcoming exchange between the media and fixer until the gun went off. At that point, any number of things passed through the nomad wheelman’s mind, and since he’d already had his Llama Comanche out and at ready, it took practically nothing for the man to spin about in his seat, weapon held at the ready, though not aimed at anyone in particular, his eyes searching for trouble.

The gangers at the other end of the alley opened up. Three were beginning their sprint across the opening, weapons pointed down at Preacher and Croaker and the already disappearing Guardian and Peacekeeper. One remained crouched at the corner near Coyote’s body, and another stepped up to take the place of the one Preacher had ended, standing over the crouching figure. It was the crouching figure who fired next though, putting three rounds down the alley with surprising accuracy. Preacher felt the impact strike him in hat, biting through the crown and ripping a gash along his scalp; the armor plating he had in the hat having saved him from a deadly wound. The second and third impacts were to the body and leg, both didn’t penetrate, but the solo knew he’d have some nice bruises to remind him of the near misses. Blood poured down his forehead and across his face almost immediately. Head wounds bled badly. But that wasn’t the end of it for the man. The second ganger opened up as well, firing three more rounds. The first took Preacher across the head again, gashing his forehead over his left eye, but not penetrating the skull. The second went past, and the third struck him dead in the chest. This time Preacher gasped as the round penetrated his armor, punctured his pectoral muscle, and buried itself in his flesh. Grimacing against the pain, the solo remained steady.

Within the cargo bay of the van, Firewind sat with his back against the wall of the van with one hand next to the unconscious girl’s head, the other resting in his lap when Spiff came sliding in on his back. Firewind knew DigitalScribe. They’d worked together before on a contract where the media had caught wind of a rather shady political deal going down and had felt that his team might need some medical backup. His perception of the man at the time had been one of similar intentions. Firewind, after all, was not a corporate slave. He’d long ago decided that wasn’t his gig. DigitalScribe seemed bent on bringing down the big dog, and had been the whole reason the medtech was on this run tonight, but then Spiff—relatively new to the evening’s activities—had popped off a shot at… the camera, yes, the camera. That’s what it boiled down to. The Baretta M20-F that the medic carried holstered under his left arm had suddenly found its way into his hand, though the medtech didn’t know which person he’d end up shooting if it came right down to it as both men ended up pointing their weapons at each other for a moment. A brief exchange and the arrival of more guns… this whole thing was a frackin’ mess! Then there was the additional gunfire from the alley! The chaos was enough to freeze most people, but Keahi wasn’t most people. He was a combat medtech.

Croaker knew Preacher had been hit. He’d heard the whine of the round that had missed pass his ear, and the impact of the rounds had caused the cowboy solo to jerk about a bit, but standing slightly behind the man, he didn’t know how badly, and the situation meant that he didn’t have much time to ascertain the fellow’s condition. They were being fired upon and that constituted immediate action. Croaker’s thumb flipped the regulator to full auto as he brought his weapon to bear on the alley. Twenty rounds of armor piercing heat flew from the barrel to pepper the whole mouth of the alley. The first sprinter spun about and fell to a roll, lying still at the end; the second stumbled and rolled to lie on the drenched pavement jerking about and screaming in pain. The third sprinter’s head vanished in a spray of dark liquid; the crouched individual bowed backward and the his head exploded as well, while the man standing above him had his legs whipped out from underneath him, an action that put his head right into the path of another bullet, killing him.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am

Posted on 2007-07-28 at 20:19:48.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: I'll scout ahead some.

Char stood over the fallen form of the abomination with the fiery weapon in hand a moment longer than, perhaps, necessary. He sensed more than saw the abating battle around him and a quick glance about had proven his assumption correct. He’d been lucky enough to remain untouched… the only one in the party it would seem, and the noise from above echoed much more loudly in his ears for the danger it proposed. His heart still raced and anger was slowly churning his insides—he’d never been one to quick anger. The fell magic used to transform these bodies had a touch of nature in them, and the fact that such pure and neutral sources were used for such evil did not sit well with the ranger.

As Jal quietly agreed that they should not retreat, Char dropped the fire on the corpse and moved quickly to Arien’s side. There, he paused long enough to place a grimy hand on his friend’s armored shoulder.

“Goo’ t’ ‘ave ya back wit’ us, frin’,” said the woodsman. Then, with a quick nod, he moved to the foot of the stairs, drawing his strangely curved blades. Some scouting needed to be done and Da’ Moon was bleeding from her leg. Though the inside of a crumbled keep wasn’t his forte, Char was the man for the job. The others would search the dead, he was confident in that. He’d let them clean themselves up while he assessed the danger.

Creeping along the inner wall of the stairwell, the ranger crouched low, moving as silently as he could (Move Silently check please), while keeping his narrowed eyes peeled for signs of any more invisibility, and his ears open for sounds of danger approaching. His intention was to get an idea of what they faced before it became a real threat. He was not completely oblivious to Da’ Moon’s assessment that Arien had been the target of the legendary blue, and while he crept along like a lynx on the hunt, he pondered the situation a little further.

There was no doubt that either Alloryn was being held—or had been held—here in the keep. That keepsake now in Arien’s possession was proof enough of that. Then there was the apparent attack on Arien when any of them could have been equally appealing targets. O’ course, Char-lad, the ranger found the voice of Eftari covering the opposite end of the argument as though his mentor were still training him in the ways of man. I’ could-uh been tha’ da knigh’ appeared t’ be da mos’ dangerous wit’ dat flamin’ sword an’ such. But then, Char had been the one shoving fire in the faces of the abominations, so he’d have been just as likely a target. No, the ranger reasoned. Dey were afta’ Arien, fer sure. So, as near as he could figure, this whole operation had something to do with the twins, whether it had begun that way or not, it was certainly working out as such. Dwan couldn’t have known it, but it seemed odd that they were the company sent none-the-less. Another disturbing thought was that Alloryn was something of a prodigy when it came to magic—at least that’s what Char understood from the short time they’d spent together. He understood the use of magic about as well as he understood the desire to dress up in silks and parade oneself around like a peacock at a formal dinner, but he’d gathered that she was good, and had a lot of potential. If that were the case, then the capture of the lady could very well have something to do with tapping into that stream.

As his mind worked over these various aspects, Char continued his ascent as quietly as he could, using the shadows to the best of his ability (Hide in Shadows too if you will), though he wasn’t fooling himself that he was as good at it as Da’ Moon, and this knowledge made him proceed with more caution.

No matter how one looked at it, he had friends in danger and that made this mission all that much more important.

Posted on 2007-07-28 at 17:28:59.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Too late.

I tried to give time to post, but I'm moving the game ahead... today!

Posted on 2007-07-28 at 17:00:30.


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