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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: Moving along, at least a little...


Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:57 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Quickly searching the Asian bodyguard, Casino discovers his sought after item: the guard's agent, which he adds to the rest of the loot the solo now carries. With no other reason to stay any longer, armed only with a single .44, Casino makes his way deeper into the hospital and towards an exit, hoping to emerge from the hospital as close to Rigg's and Murtaugh's car as possible. Hiding his bloody arm under his overcoat, Casino hopes not to run into any police, and if he does, armed only with a single .44 and not wearing the same armor as the rest of Leader's group, that he would be able to bluff his way by them if he does. The goal now is to just get out of this hospital, get to the police car's lockbox, and then make a few phone calls.

Hospital corridors are kept free from obstacles by design, but it isn't long before the large solo finds himself facing a living wall. SWAT, or private security personnel, stand in a row stretching the width of the hall and as deep as three rows. They are moving forward with practiced steps maintaining the riot shield protection with heavy submachine guns held over the lead row's shoulders. Another five meters and they would have rounded the corner giving them a clear line of sight into the emergency room.

"Get down on the ground! Hands in the air! Now!" Multiple individuals yell, their adrenaline heightened by the hostage situation they are walking into.

(OOC: Assuming Casino obeys.)

Yells have alerted anyone beyond the hall to their presence and a stealthy approach is no longer a priority. The first row bearing the riot shields breaks as the large leather-clad solo drops to his knees, hand held out over his head, crooked at the elbows. Pain rolls up into Keith's left shoulder and continues down into his ribs but it is muted, controlled by the technology attached to his nervous system and he's able to keep from wincing too badly. Two soldiers in dark blue uniforms rush forward and red dots play across his armored chest while a third drops down just out of lunging range and pulls up his combat mask revealing a black man with a thin mustache over his large lips and intense eyes.

"What's your name?"

(OOC: Casino's reply.)

"What's back there?" he motions with the barrel of his weapon back towards the emergency room but before the gunman can answer the officer's radio barks. Alpha Team reporting. Threat eliminated. Lobby cleared. Moving into the emergency room now.

"You've two seconds, man," the officer presses, while motioning his shield line forward.

(OOC: good place to leave off,)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

West 43875 St. 52 High -- The Bartholomew School Grounds and Sewage/Runoff Drainage System | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 4:02 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ghlahn watches the two guards moving in textbook fashion. Their kind never wavers from their training and if one had read the book, one could anticipate their next move. Ghlahn has certainly read the book. If they are engaged they will attempt to return fire and call in a report. That report will bring more guards. More guards means more trouble. But, letting them alone will mean they can walk up on the others and take his companions by surprise. Ghlahn knows he can drop one of them, and possibly both of them, before they can send a report but he can not be 100% sure of his success.

If the guards come close to leaving his vantage, he will have no choice but to eliminate them. If they turn, they will live. Ghlahn focuses on the trailing guard and will shoot him first hoping his partner might not react immediately and allow for a quick second shot at the lead soldier.

Echo quickly motions Blossom to get up near the door and Fixer, whispering, "Patrol coming—help him get us in if you can. We don't have any time to lose."

Turning to the crooner, Echo gets closer to him and says, her voice still quiet, "Hey, Songbird, there's a patrol coming I'm sure of it, so you'd best keep that tune in your head before you get us caught." She motions him to take cover closer to the door, pointing in the direction she saw the light.

She actually delights in the cat-and-mouse game, the rush and adrenaline it causes, having played at such things as a child, but as an adult the stakes are much higher and she isn't overly fond of what will follow if they are caught.

Vegas takes heed to the warning from Echo as he focuses his sight in the direction she points, allowing the song to hum lightly in his memory banks. The Sultan of Swoon sees nothing out of the ordinary, but the Chairman of the Board knows when to swallow any pride and follow the advice of those more informed than he in any given situation. Now is such a time!

So the Frank Sinatra look-alike quickly, and as silently as possible, positions himself by taking cover closer to the door as advised. Then the Dapper Solo takes close inventory of his taser and gas sprayer as he double-checks his left hand bounty bracer before scrutinizing and double-checking the weaponry on his right forearm; namely, the Anti-Cee bracer with the Arc Thrower and EMP pulse, before secluding himself as discreetly as possible. Now, it is only a matter of time before the Classic Crooner springs into action, if necessary.

Once Vegas moves closer, Echo takes up a rear defense position with as much cover as she can muster, feeling both excited and terrified, hoping Ghlahn is moving to a place where he has a view of them in case things go south.

Noise is as much the team's enemy as the visuals captured on the security cameras. Logic states that the only way they've been made is because Echo and Blossom were caught on camera before they could splice the system and inject a virus. Sustained gunfire will do nothing if not wake the entire compound even with the occasional roll of thunder overhead and the slums nearby. In the entire time the group has been in the compound they've not yet heard a single sound from the conapts over the wall. Most of the riffraff who live there are likely sleeping, doing their best to forget the miserable situation they live their lives within.

The two man sec-team moving up the outside of the field building are proceeding at a steady pace. Ghlahn estimates that they will be around the northernmost point of the large oval structure within thirty seconds. Maybe three seconds to cross the space between the field and the Sports Hall, and then another twenty seconds to half a minute to the corner overlooking the position his teammates have gone. One minute and fifteen seconds, or so, to make a decision to end two lives. They could have families, be good people, have the potential to change this world for the better, and M'harú Ghlahn has power over whether they live or die.

Vegas stares towards the eastern wall of the Hall with anticipation. The Hall was all the label that the building had on Blossom's map and he can only assume that it is a gathering place for assembly or something similar. At least three stories in height with a colonial architecture, it is an imposing structure on campus. Certainly larger than the administration building they are all huddled next to. If Echo's information is correct, the possible threat will come from that direction; northwest, having already passed by the kitchen and the northern face of the Hall. The anticipation is antagonizing.

Click! The door jerks inward a fraction of a centimeter and Fixer realizes that he's done it. He's bypassed the lock. Looking in through the reflective glass at the hall beyond, he recognizes it to be devoid of furniture, approximately twenty meters long with three closed doors down the length. Each of those doors appear to be solid with no windows. At the end of the hall his optic splices allow him to see a display case and a cross section, the corridor coming to a T.

Posted on 2017-04-18 at 16:58:23.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I haven't posted yet.


Just in case you were wondering if you missed something. I hope to post today.

Posted on 2017-04-18 at 12:26:23.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: As you've likely noticed...


I did not post. I plan on posting today (hopefully).

Posted on 2017-04-18 at 12:25:46.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: My plan...


So that people know what I'm planning. Asovil will attempt to recalibrate the scans to account for dark matter displacement. This will take a little bit of time (I imagine the time it takes for the other scans to fail to find the Stormspike). Even if the attacking vessel decloaks to attack, from what I understand of Olan's explanation, it will cloak again as soon as it causes damage.

Anyway, that's the plan. Unless, of course, I'm directed otherwise.

Posted on 2017-04-17 at 10:23:47.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Great posts thus far...


Hello. It's me...

We're all waiting on the majority to post. Hopefully, I'll be able to post Monday morning.

Posted on 2017-04-13 at 10:30:50.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: My personal theory...


I'm no scientist. I just play one on the Inn. However, I've been reading into Dark Matter since that's one of Asovil's favorite subjects to study and it might be possible to detect a large object in space by the displacement of dark matter.

For the sake of the game, and if there's approval from the Q Continuum, Asovil could implement a Dark Matter scan and depending on how long the masters of the game wish this encounter to proceed, could slowly expand the radius of the scan until it could detect the occupied space of a cloaked vessel that has displaced the dark matter (unoccupied space).

Posted on 2017-04-13 at 10:28:57.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: Preparations...


Stardate 2365.02.11 (Thursday - 42143.7)
USS Peregrine; Deck 1 - Main Bridge - 10:51



"Captain, they are firing disruptors!" Berk interjects. At that moment, purplish energy bolts ripped out from the decloaked ship and slammed into two of the Rytain ships.

Waiting for the correct time to discharge the tachyon beam, the science officer intently watches the distance between the ships. The beam will lessen the enemy ship's shield efficiency and after that, well, she'll need to come up with something more to assist in their surviving this predicament. Her antennaes twitch as she considers the likelihood of them seeking to cloak and escape. They are much weaker than anything here, her deep indigo eyes flit across the sensor data collected on the ship. They came here to die.

"Sir, I can get you a photon lock but there's some risk to the assembled ships." Mathias reports. "It'll be hard to reacquire if they turn and cloak again. If you want phasers I need us closer, at least another hundred and fifty thousand kilometers or so."

One hundred and fifty thousand kilometers, Asovil frowns as she considers the range needed to implement her expiramental tachyon beam. Twenty thousand kilometers is not that great a distance in space and she wonders if they'll get close enough to even prove her usefulness.

Silas swears vehemently. Fortunately, Lieutenant Zai immediately bends to the task at hand.

"Intercept initiated, Captain," Tochi calls with a confident tone that stirs the Andorian CSO's blood with the fire of potential combat. "Point and grunt, sir, and we're there!"

"Get us in phaser range as quickly as possible, Lieutenant," the captain responds. "I'd rather not fire torpedoes in this situation if I can help it."

Lieutenant Lasad speaks up from the Ops station. "Captain," he begins, "the attacking vessel is transmitting as the KDF Stormspike, a Kuldarian vessel. It seems odd, though—this ship design is at least fifty years out of date—if not more—and the energy signatures make no sense whatsoever. They shouldn't even have the power plant capable of energizing disruptors of that magnitude, let alone operate a cloaking device."

Lt. Sh'iraolnas wonders if she's missed something in her brief review of the mission after her meeting with Captain Drake. Nothing had been said about either peoples' technological advancements including cloaking or disruptors. But then, as the Chief Science Officer, she could have just not been informed.

The Ops Chief continues with his status report, "One of the Rytainian vessels has been destroyed, Captain. The other is badly damaged. The Stormspike is charging for another volley."

The Captain barks out, "Open hailing frequencies again. Attention, KDF Stormspike! Cease and desist your attack at once, or you will be destroyed! I will not offer another warning."

Suddenly, the Kuldarian vessel disappears from sensors, and the viewscreen Asovil confirms with a glance over her shoulder.

"Captain," Berk calls out, "the enemy vessel has re-cloaked."

Ambassador Threel cries out in outrage, "You and your treacherous kind! There can be no peace while your murderous species continues to consume oxygen!"

Surprised, in part because the Andorian isn't used to such outbursts on the Bridge and partly because she had almost forgotten that the ambassadors were present, Lieutenant Sh'iraolnas struggles to keep her attention on her scans. Maybe, just maybe, she can pick the cloaked ship up. If only she can discover any sign of engine emissions, disruptor residue, or mineral inconsistencies in the space within which the vessel had last been registered. But the conversation taking place behind her is very distracting and the energy in the room is infectious. Despite her attempts at self-control, she finds her antennae responding to the increased hostility by standing straight up with attentive eagerness.

D'lar's voice carried a tone of utter dismay. "This is not an official act of my government, I am certain of this. We came here for a true hope of peace."

"Liar!" Threel spits. "Yet another Kuldarian ambush! Who cares if your government made official sanction of this, the murder is the same!"

D'lar speaks directly to Drake. "Captain, this is not right. I can assure you that this is not a Kuldarian attack. We see the tactical value in ambushes, I do not deny this, but we did not perform this one."

Asovil cannot help herself and throws a glance over her shoulder to see Ambassador Threel drifting into full apoplexy. "Can you never speak the truth, you filthy cur? The evidence is before us, borne in the blood of my people, once again spilled for no reason!"

The Kuldar raises a hand to stall any potential action from others on the Bridge and the Andorian scientist forces herself back to the scans. "Captain, please, I beg of you—listen to me. I know that this is not a Kuldarian attack—my grandsire served on the Stormspike, but she was lost with all hands some forty years ago while on field operations in Rytainian territory. All of her crew were given burials when I was a child. We searched for her for months, but she was never found, and her last transmission indicated that life support had been breached, that all lives were lost."

"Field operations???" Threel shrieks sending a shiver down the slim woman's spine as she adjusts the sensitivity of her mineral scan. "You mean, an attack run to kill Rytainian children! Do not disguise your bloodlust behind flowery words!"

Drake finally replies in a calm tone laced with warning. "Enough, Ambassador Threel. You will sit down and be silent, or you will be removed from my bridge." Asovil nearly sat right there on the floor. She is glad that she is not the recipient of the Captain's words and though she can understand Threel's outburst, she is suspicious of the authenticity of his claims. After all, the Rytanian had seemed less than confident of the Kuldarian's agenda with this summit whereas D'Lar had come across as blunt but sincere. Even Tochi had admitted at lunch that they had confused his original perception of the duo, and in the short time the Andorian has known the Trill, she has come to trust his instinct.

"Hail the Coronado," the Captain orders. "Captain Jacobs will need to be informed of this intel."

Suddenly, a smaller alarm sounds. "Captain," Lasad is aghast. "I'm detecting a significant explosion aboard the Coronado! I'll need to see the official damage report, but it appears that the explosion may have involved their torpedo launcher! Their shields are holding, but are significantly weakened—they are down to sixty-two percent capacity."

I thought that cloaked ships can't fire weapons, Furrowing her brow, the Andorian adjusts her scans to the area immediately surrounding the other Federation vessel. Nothing. No sign of the Stormspike or any other threat for that matter. Deepening the frown, the scientist fights the feeling of helplessness that is rising in her and seeks to allow the Will of the Warrior to take over. Frantically searching for something to do, some way to positively affect the outcome of the battle, Asovil switches from an offensive position to a defensive position.

"Captain," she turns to face Silas, antennae perched in a forward anticapatory position on the back of her head. "With your permission I would like to polarize the hull. If the Stormspike has the means to attack from a cloaked position, we need to insure that we aren't taken by surprise. Polarizing the hull will help sturdy the Peregrine's structure against energy attacks among other things."


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stardate 2365.02.11 (Thursday - 42143.7)
USS Peregrine; Deck 4 - Sickbay - 10:52


=/= Chief Cook to all Medical Personnel =/= Cook pauses briefly as the computer routes her call to the proper crew, =/= Report to Sickbay immediately! =/=

Approaching the wall and opening the storage bins, the Vulcan crewman produces a medical tricorder which he attaches to his utility belt. Taking up a hypospray, he grabs a satchel of canisters with painkillers and also attaches these to his belt. There are certified nurses here at sickbay who will address the needs of personnel brought in. Toriak's job in such situations is to seek out the wounded who cannot make it to sickbay and stabilize them until they can be transported. Until such a time as he is needed, he calmly returns to his duties inputting record data.

As the others arrive in hurried and rushed conditions, Mister Toriak seemingly takes no notice. Focusing on the data still presenting before him, the Vulcan selects the file of Warren and waits calmly as the file is presented. Confident that Cook will make assignments when necessary, Toriak glances down at the PADD he holds in his left hand and syncs the station directly to the portable device. Once the systems link is present, he begins transferring the notes from Cooks' recent exam into the authorized location within Travis Warren's file. Calm for a Vulcan is not an achievement. Logically speaking, his position of pure stoicism should help those of less sturdy constitutions regulate their adrenaline. Thus, he cannot fathom why Nurse Reynolds' hands are shaking. This, too, isn't something for him to be overly concerned with. If the head nurse felt it prudent to address her subordinate's lack of decorum, then she could.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stardate 2365.02.09 (Tuesday - 42137.6)
USS Peregrine; Deck 5 - Security Department - 10:53


Arriving on the Bridge, Petty Officer 2nd Class Da Zheng immediately locates the Kuldar he's been charged with protecting. The gray-skinned alien is obviously shaken and Da's immediate assessment is that something isn't right with both of the delegates. Calculating the potential for some physical action against the man he's to protect, Zheng moves between him and the agitated Ambassador Threel to a position where he can keep both delegates under observation, phaser rifle held at attention across his chest.

Posted on 2017-04-12 at 11:52:15.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: What a good Monkey Flipper...


I actually have yet to read all of the latest posts. I vow to remedy that situation immediately.

... OK, I read them. Awesome posts by everyone.

Eol, are you wanting to continue the back posts?

Olan, is the Tachyon Beam still a viable option? I've researched and cannot find anything within the canon that sets a date when such uses of tachyons was registered.

Posted on 2017-04-12 at 10:22:03.
Edited on 2017-04-12 at 11:55:05 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Fantastic!


Post! Post! Post!

Posted on 2017-04-11 at 17:08:41.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: I concur.


I do! You're fine.

Posted on 2017-04-11 at 10:11:27.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I love the depth of the posts!


You meatbags have really started breathing life into your characters with the depth of the recent posts. I'm loving it.

I've moved the group at the school forward. Echo receives 1 IP in Awareness/Notice for her life-saving catch. Looking forward to your next actions, for action is upon you!

Posted on 2017-04-10 at 11:45:02.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: Just the crew at the school...


West 43875 St. 52 High -- The Bartholomew School Grounds and Sewage/Runoff Drainage System | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 3:59 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A bead of sweat runs down the runner's forehead as the high pitch of the saw finishes making its way through the final bit of the last bar that barricaded the group's way. The instrument's high pitch ends as it retracts back into the bracer. Fixer quickly makes his way back down the ladder to garner what kind of plan the rest of the group has formed.

"So, patrols about. They've got canines," Fixer speaks directly to the point as soon as he steps up next to Vegas. "Though they did not seem to be attentive much to their patrols, they could still prove to be dangerous."

Funny thing about self-doubts and second guessings, when a person gives into introspection that gnaws at the inner gut, like Vegas has been doing, while Fixer cut through the bars: When it is all said and done and time for action, it is the years of training and discipline that kick into high gear, banishing the fears and doubts into the hidden vaults of the inner recesses of the mind.

Such is the case with Vegas as Fixer cut through the last remaining bar and joins them. The warning of a patrol and canines is all the Frank Sinatra look-alike needs to hear. Now he is clearheaded and harbors no lingering thoughts of his own death and demise, nor is he afraid or apprehensive about what is about to transpire within the school grounds. Neither does he protest when Blossom and Echo take the lead enroute to their destination on the school grounds. Under better circumstances, the Dapper Solo would have enjoyed the view, but the driving rain shower and water-soaked grounds dampen his lust for the Asian netrunner.

Dampen, mind you, but not totally eliminating his lust for the Asian beauty; especially since she and Echo have seemingly taken charge. Her taking charge of this operation greatly enhances his desire for the lovely wardriver. Not only that, but watching her in action compells The Chairman to do his utmost to protect her and see their assignment through to completion. Perhaps a bit of romance would be his reward?

Taking heed of the techie's warning, Echo and Blossom are the first two up the ladder and out of the sewer. The plan is for the netrunner to upload a virus to disable part of the security system without making it seem disabled. Fixer doesn't understand the particular specifics of it, but that does not worry him much. If they can all get past the security systems without drawing attention to themselves, then all the better.

Painstaking moments pass by as Fixer waits at the bottom of the ladder for the duo of women to be done with their task. Seems like an eternity as he waits on them. When Echo motions them to join the two females at the gym, it is Vegas who leads the charge, outracing both Bloodbank and Fixer to join the two women. A brief, quiet call from Vegas signals to those in the sewer that he is taking off and that the two women are finished. The medic is next followed shortly by Fixer himself. Ghlahn is left behind in the sewers for overwatch—their guardian angel.

The hood of his jacket up, his mask in front of his face to filter out the air's pollutants, Fixer's gauntlets, forearm bracers, and upper arm bracers are all activated. He knows the run is getting into dangerous territory. Rain pelts down on the techie and runs off of his clothing. His boots splash down into the rain soaked ground as he darts across the open ground to where the rest of the group rests.

"That door will get us inside," Blossom points towards the door at the back of the admin building that Echo had seen some meters away across more open compound and, without hesitation, the group rushes towards it.

"Let me have a look at it; I can get us in," Fixer speaks up from behind his mask and moves to the front of the group in an assumption that the door is locked.

As Fixer moves to work the door, Echo turns to keep watch just in case someone has seen them cross the schoolyard. She doesn't want to take any chances or be sloppy in her work. She hopes the man will be quick. She wants to get out of the rain. She is wet, a bit chilled, and just this side of cranky, but she needs to take care of an issue weighing on her mind and keeping her off-point.

Briefly turning to the netrunner, Echo swallows with a bit of nervousness and whispers to Blossom, "Yes, I was Private School once, but that was a long time ago. If we get through this and can have a sit-down, I'll tell you a story of a rich girl turned Street."

Echo hopes the netrunner will recognize her subtle offer of friendship. She really likes the little Asian; she reminds the nomad so much of a friend she once had back when her life was much, much different. Putting her musing aside, she focuses on the job at hand, glad to have made that step.

"Story time!" Blossom bubbles quietly grinning back at the rain-soaked, leather clad woman. "Sounds great, Ace Kool."

Vegas notes that Echo takes action to stand guard in case their presence on the school grounds has not gone unobserved. Her action causes a grim smile of admiration for her quick thinking to spread across his lips and face. The Dapper Solo secures his guns as he takes up a defensive position on the opposite side of the group (from where Echo has stationed herself to stand watch). Checking his left hand bounty bracer, the Classic Crooner makes sure his taser and gas sprayer are at the ready to repel any resistance to the party gaining access to the school. On the other hand, Vegas makes ready with his weaponry on his right forearm; namely the Anti-CEE bracer with the Arc Thrower - EMP pulse to shock or knock out any opponent.

Vegas takes one last longing look at Blossom, freshly etching her lovely shape in his mind before turning his full attention to searching the landscape for any unwanted patrols or canines. Though the Dapper Solo focuses his combat trained eyes upon the terrain, he does so while quietly singing to himself a classic Sinatra hit song, 'The Way You Look Tonight.'

As the others make their way to the building, Ghlahn takes up watch at the top of the ladder. Although it is too low to offer a great vantage point, it does offer excellent cover. He has just settled in when a brief glimmer of light catches his eye. It seems the camera has seen more than the group has hoped. A bouncing light could only mean one thing; a security patrol. Well that plan went to s*** quick, he thinks. There is no way to warn the others without giving away his position and that suits him just fine. It seems that he will get a chance to test out the borrowed weapons. He plans to eliminate the patrol or, barring that, at least draw them in his direction. His job is to keep the others safe using any means necessary and perhaps even a few means not quite as necessary, but simply enjoyable.

Techscanner results play across the bracer on Fixer's exposed right forearm. Nodding once with definitive decision, the grey eyed man rolls his sleeve back down and reaches into his leather carrybag, immediately going to the pocket with his cardlock decryptor. The diminutive device is no larger than a credit card and only slightly thicker. The construct is plastic, water resistant, with a full screen and no bevels along the edge.

Holding the decryptor close to the card reader—a simple black box just inside the glass of the door near the handle—Fixer activates the screen. Light grey numbers, letters, and symbols fly across the screen to nest in the center, two hundred and fifty of them spinning, twirling, and rotating in place once rooted. Thunder rolls overhead and the rain continues to fall in a heavy drizzle, winds blasting the courtyard. Drenched to the bone, Fixer finds his hands trembling as the cold viciously attempts to find his soul. Ten seconds pass and thirty of the characters have locked on. Twenty seconds and another forty have found their mark.

Tucked away in the small cave of the sewer runoff aqueduct, Ghlahn readies his Nomad .44 and puts his eye to the scope while calmly scanning the area between the sports grounds and the sports hall for the impending arrival of the sec-team. Breathing evenly. Watching hungrily. And here they come; two soldiers wearing black uniforms with black bulletproof vests and visored helmets. Flashlights attached to their helmets provide them with light, highlighting the falling rain and casting long shadows ahead of them. Militech Ronin Assault Rifles are strapped to their backs, Arasaka Minami 10 submachine guns in hand, Colt AMT 2000's strapped at the hip. To M'harú Ghlahn's trained eye, these guards aren't green. They are most likely veterans of the wars in South America returned home with no other life available to them than something with a weapon in hand. If it wouldn't have been for Deft-Hand, this might have been the red-headed sniper's fate.

These two guards do not have a dog with them, which means that there's at least one more patrol on the grounds if Fixer is to be believed. These two have slowed their roll and are now moving up the side of the Sports Hall in traditional fashion, the fellow in the back within hand reach of his companion and slightly to the right, their submachine guns at ready. The rest of Ghlahn's group is completely out of sight now, the Sports Hall between his position and them. Rain gusts before his scope, the crosshairs slowly bobbing across the lead sec-team's chest.

Standing to the southeast of where Fixer is working, Echo surveys the dark and blustering grounds, her head on a swivel. The lights of the nearby slums don't reach the compound leaving most of it in darkness which suits the edgerunner's situation just fine. Perhaps it is just a matter of luck, or perhaps it is because she is really that good; whatever the reason, as the small masked woman looks to the northwest, past where Vegas is standing watch, she catches a glimmer of lights off the dancing, convulsing leaves. Brief in its life, fleeting in its warning, she instinctively knows that someone is coming from that direction and with the Sports Hall between their position and Ghlahn, there is no support available from the sniper. She doesn't know how long they have, but she's absolutely positive that the Chairman hasn't noticed, hasn't received the warning nature has given her.

Posted on 2017-04-10 at 11:41:14.
Edited on 2017-04-10 at 11:43:00 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread
Subject: Not in a bit...


He's around somewhere (both the GM and the Man in White).

Posted on 2017-04-10 at 10:18:04.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: EOL deserves a group FACELICK!




Posted on 2017-04-07 at 17:52:13.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: I'll keep my antennae crossed...


Breathe life back into your characters... Breathe!!!

Posted on 2017-04-07 at 10:26:51.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Ugh!


I hate computer maintenance. Good luck!

Posted on 2017-04-06 at 10:06:50.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Yup and Yup.


Hammer, check your PM for the link.

Tann, the masks are high-end military combat masks, so yes. You can. You could even take one if you wanted to. +1 second.

Posted on 2017-04-05 at 16:49:14.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Tourn-a-turn...


I rarely make arbitrary decisions and in this case, Tann, the dice decided.

Excellent posts so far. Looking forward to the rest.

Posted on 2017-04-05 at 11:26:56.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Yup.


You are right, Boo. Thanks for catching that.

Posted on 2017-04-05 at 11:22:50.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Pain Editor...


The Pain Editor: This coprocessor overides the pain receptors of the brain, making the subject impervious to torture, deprivation or physical hardship. It doesn't mean he isn't getting hurt, just that he won't notice it until he collapses (make Endurance Skill checks, but at two levels of difficulty lower than normal).

Casino is in an emergency room. Chances are there's something with which he can stop the bleeding. The big question is, does he know what that is and is it labeled so that he can find it? The answer would be, not likely. Casino doesn't have any ranks in First Aid. The most he can do is apply a tourniquet. Unless, that is, you want him to spend more time searching through the medical supplies on hand for something that strikes him as a blood coagulant. So far, he's been making his Endurance Skill checks. If he doesn't stop the bleeding soon he will drop into the next wound category which attaches a negative to those checks.

Posted on 2017-04-04 at 10:33:47.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Arm not functioning at 100%.


The pain editor will numb the pain and so long as Casino isn't moving the arm he won't feel a thing. The tumble he attempted reopened the barely calculated wound and it is bleeding profusely again. Moving the limb feels like dragging your arm through water but because of the pain editor, Casino will only feel a dull ache. Is he at risk from passing out due to shock or the pain? Maybe. So far he's made the checks he's needed to in order to not pass out. The greater risk right now is bleeding into a critical wound state now that he's bleeding again.

Posted on 2017-04-03 at 20:51:01.
Edited on 2017-04-03 at 20:51:53 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Glad you liked it!


The dice are just the Inn's dice roller tool, so thank Olan's programming.

Casino is in the serious wound category (-2 to REF). The shots to the chest will cause some serious bruising, but his armor protected him from penetration. The arm/shoulder is the problem.

Posted on 2017-04-03 at 10:44:52.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: Glad you liked it!


I'm looking forward to everyone else's posts now!

Posted on 2017-04-03 at 10:43:18.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: I've posted.


Yee-hah!

Posted on 2017-04-02 at 22:33:25.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty
Subject: Updates for Everyone!


Stardate 2365.02.11 (Thursday - 42143.7)
USS Peregrine; Deck 1 - Main Bridge - 10:30



Stomach lurching. False sense of gravitational pull. The Peregrine leaves warp. Asovil has never enjoyed this part of space travel. Focusing on the console in front of her, the blue-skinned beauty scans the data rapidly flowing down the screen. Radio, microwave, and infrared spectroscopy results read normal with slightly higher metallic and mineral base compounds. Slender fingers fly across the controls of the bridge Science Station activating a standard Level 7 scan of their immediate space for potential hazardous materials. Without looking at the large viewscreen, Lt. Sh'iraolnas knows from the readings that they are close to large bodies of mineral-based objects and concludes asteroids. Asteroids are the breeding grounds of all kinds of space chemicals and many strange mineral compounds, but in most cases they have been studied to oblivion and back. The Ferengi specifically liked asteroid belts for their potential profit and her own people, the Andorians, are just as likely to mine asteroids as the more diminutive species. Still, Asovil is thorough and the least amount of energy expenditure she can manage while still performing her duties is the Level 7 scan.

"Mister Lasad," the Captain begins, "give me a full sensor analysis of the surrounding area, paying special attention to the asteroid field."

The handsome operations chief nods as his fingers fly across his console. "Aye, sir."

Without being asked, Lt. Sh'iraolnas adjusts her current scan to amplify the operations officer's. She eyeballs the information as it compiles and chews on the inside of her bottom lip in concentration.

"Mister Berk," Drake speaks again, "I want a full breakdown on the disposition of all vessels within sensor range in this system."

Berk responds from his seat. "Aye, sir."

"Tochi," the Captain continues and for a moment Asovil's heart leaps in her chest at the name, "set a course for the rendezvous point, bring us in at one quarter impulse."

The Trill, all business, promptly replies. "Aye sir. Course laid in, engaging impulse engines now."

"Here we are," the captain's voice was quiet and yet carried clear enough in the confines of the bridge. "Here's to hope and peace."

Two days have passed since her lunch with Tochi. They had both managed very little time away from their duties during that time. Asovil's department is still in a shambles with a crewman in sickbay recovering from chemical burns that were so horrible the science officer still see's them when she closes her eyes. Ensign Maize's thorough and persistent investigation (assisted by PO 2nd Class Zhang) has only unveiled the delivery of a mysterious container that is nowhere to be found. Rogers, though awake, has nothing to add except a rather haughty opinion that he did nothing wrong. Ansovil's analysis of the data from the Chem Lab scan has rendered a dead end as well and the whole investigation is now on hold due to the summit.

Frustration at the lack of answers and the delay into discovery rises in the young Andorian's stomach requiring her to force the feelings down with an effort that would have been visible if any could see her face. Focus on the data, she mentally chides and returns to the scan's results.

Cyanogen radical, hydrogen chloride, sulfur monohydride, were she being honest with herself, she would have to admit that she is just as frustrated with the lack of time afforded her and Tochi in their burgeoning relationship. Two days since the last time they had been able to spend any time together! It seems like an eternity or at least a couple of months, not just two days. Even since being on the bridge for Alpha shift, she has done all she can do not to turn and seek his gaze. Carbon dioxide readings are normal, HCP is good, of course, Tochi has been busy with his duties and the closer to the summit they came, the more Drake sought his closest advisor's consultation. Not to mention the amount of time that the handsome Trill had to spend entertaining the visiting delegations. With the Science department being really nothing more than an afterthought on this escort vessel, the lieutenant has found a rather large lack of interaction with the other senior officers.

There's a slightly lower reading of H2S, but that could be because of their proximity to the asteroids. Punching in a command, Asovil watches as the possible reasons for low hydrogen sulfide are relayed. Nothing alarming. Nothing to bring to anyone's attention.

The Peregrine clears the asteroid field without incident to reveal the greenish ball of Gamera III, with Gyaos Station - the actual location of the summit - appearing as a small shadow orbiting in front of it. As is fully expected, fleets from both Rytain and Kuldar had taken up formations at opposing points.

Sensor data reveals that both fleets are comprised of the newest technology that each people has to offer; this is also no surprise. Neither faction will stomach the slightest loss of face, and neither will dream of deploying outdated, inferior vessels to this important meeting.

Gyaos Station is hailed and the two Federation vessels are locked into approach vectors for docking when suddenly, the excrement hit the air distribution device.

An audible alarm sounds and Asovil nearly jumps out of her skin. Glancing over her shoulder, she looks to Tactical just as Berk's voice rings out. "Captain! An unidentified vessel has just decloaked near the Rytainian fleet and is on an intercept vector with them! Range, four hundred twenty thousand kilometers. Heading one hundred forty degrees, mark one one five." The TAC officer's voice is tight. "Sir, they appear to be charging weapons."

Asovil's fingers deftly fly across the science station's controls bringing up a different set of screens and additional commands. A portion of her screen is dedicated to the position of the new ship, also showing the space station and the Rytainian and Kularian diplomatic fleets.

"Red alert!" Captain Drake barks. "Shields up! Bring our own weapon systems online, and prepare to fire. I want that ship on-screen, and give me a sensor breakdown of it right now," the Captain orders.

Lt. Sh'iraolnas is already running a Level 5 scan. She's not tactical, but being Andorian and Imperial Guard trained, she has a few tricks up her sleeve when it comes to combat. Beginning the command sequence, she adjusts the Tachyon sensor to output and directs the component to target the new space vessel.

"Open hailing frequencies," Drake continues, his own voice clipped.

"Attention, unidentified vessel," he states in a stern tone as the viewscreen shifts to a magnified view of the aggressor. "This is Commander Silas Drake of the USS Peregrine. I hereby order you to..."

"Captain, they are firing disruptors!" Berk interjects. At that moment, purplish energy bolts ripped out from the decloaked ship and slammed into two of the Rytain ships.

Nothing in the mission briefing had given any indication of a third race that stood to gain from the continued war between these two peoples. In the back of her brilliant mind, Asovil considers the possibility of Klingon mercenaries, or Romulans with their cloaking, then her father's stories of the Ferengi doing whatever they could to gain profit and how much profit a war could generate slipped into the line-up. Whoever they are--Asovil punches in the last command and watches the system begin to fire up--they are a threat to the success of the mission and the Andorian cannot abide that.

Waiting for the correct time to discharge the tachyon beam, the science officer intently watches the distance between the ships. The beam will lessen the enemy ship's shield efficiency and after that, she has another card to play that will keep their cloaking device inoperable while playing games with their shields. Her antennaes twitch as she considers the likelihood of them seeking to cloak and escape. They are much weaker than anything here, her deep indigo eyes flit across the sensor data collected on the ship. They came here to die.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stardate 2365.02.11 (Thursday - 42143.7)
USS Peregrine; Deck 4 - Sickbay - 10:50


Crewman Toriak raises his eyebrows. The sounding alarm is not something he expected. A notification appears on the station screen in front of him indicating an attacking vessel. It is all that he needs to shift his focus from updating the records of a number of crewmen who had just finished their physicals to preparing for injured personnel.

Approaching the wall and opening the storage bins, the Vulcan produces a medical tricorder which he attaches to his utility belt. Taking up a hypospray, he grabs a satchel of canisters with painkillers and also attaches these to his belt. There are certified nurses here at sickbay who will address the needs of personnel brought in. Toriak's job in such situations is to seek out the wounded who cannot make it to sickbay and stabilize them until they can be transported. Until such a time as he is needed, he calmly returns to his duties inputting record data.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stardate 2365.02.11 (Thursday - 42143.7)
USS Peregrine; Deck 4 - Science Lab - 10:50


Ensign Dalia Maize looks up at the ceiling as the klaxon blares, her heart leaping into her chest. Engrossed in her work (neglected out of necessity due to the frustrating investigation into Roger's accident) she experiences a moment of discombobulation before realizing that they must be close to the summit site now and--Yes, we're out of warp.--they have encountered trouble.

On a scout vessel such as the Peregrine, Science personnel are only in the way anywhere other than their quarters or the science stations. It always unnerves her to be so reliant on others for her safety, but she is not a soldier and has never desired to be one. Even as other personnel seek to train in hand-to-hand combat during their required exercise blocks, Dalia prefers spending time mountain climbing on the holodeck, or hiking, or even jogging. Feeling the inside of a suddenly dry mouth, she wonders if she will get the chance to do any of those again and deliberately returns to her work.

"Don't think about it," she mutters. "Don't even think about it."


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stardate 2365.02.11 (Thursday - 42143.7)
USS Peregrine; Deck 5 - Security Department - 17:45


Petty Officer 2nd Class Da Zheng leaps up from his chair at the clanging alarm and rushes towards the weapons locker. Drill after drill after drill has turned this motion into muscle memory. Phaser to the belt, phaser rifle in hand. Turning from the locker, the young Asian immediately rushes out the door. He's assigned to the safety of the Kuldar delegation and he's determined to see that they are safe.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stardate 2365.02.11 (Thursday - 42143.7)
USS Peregrine; Deck 5 - Brig - 10:50


Lauren Crane's head jerks to look out of the energy field of her cell. She's alone. There's no need for a guard and there has only been one or two occasions where anyone from security has found it necessary to spend any time in the brig office over the past two days. Aside from meals and visits from Cook under the pretense of medical care, she has been alone for two days. And this is only three days into her punishment.

Blinking rapidly, she considers the possible reasons behind the alarm that has startled her and set her heart racing. They have to be close to the summit as she had felt them come out of warp. Peace talks wouldn't require the ship to come in hot, Would it? she wondered. Hugging her knees to her chest, the diminutive woman frowns into her pant legs and let's her imagination run wild.

Posted on 2017-04-02 at 18:56:04.
Edited on 2017-04-05 at 11:21:09 by Bromern Sal

 


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