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𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay
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6 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
REGICIDE OR ROADKILL? - OVERDRIVER’S FIRST AND FINAL CRASH
The annual Death Derby 800 ended in tragedy today as the reigning champion, OverDriver, spun out of control in a fiery blaze on the sixth stage of the race whilst attempting a flick turn on the Car Czar. Caduceus officials have declined to offer any word on condition, with an official spokesman stating that patient confidentiality was of utmost importance.
“ Every turboblazer out there should be lookin’ at this like an opportunity.” Marco Santiano, known in the underground racing scene as the eponymous ‘Car Czar’, spoek during a press conference. “ The throne’s ripe for the taking. It’s just a manner of who gets there first.”
“ Every turboblazer out there should be lookin’ at this like an opportunity.” Marco Santiano, known in the underground racing scene as the eponymous ‘Car Czar’, spoek during a press conference. “ The throne’s ripe for the taking. It’s just a manner of who gets there first.”
C:>/ver
FUTILITY V 2.01 [DRIFT_DEMON.exe]
C:>>> WARNING! ACTIVE VIRUS DETECTED.
C:>/attrib 0VER_DRIVER.inf
C:>/del 0VER_DRIVER.inf
PROCESSING…….
C:>/ERROR ERROR ER123132R4345O
His hand was shaking. Not his meat one but his metal one. He frowned. Strange. Augs weren’t supposed to be human bone and blood, full of imperfections, but cold metal, artificial, cold perfection. He heard some Hyperhuman sophist in the past that transitioning to áscendance’ had different effects on the soul and how acclimating you the experience could take time depending on past experiences. Phantom pains. The body denying what the mind had already accepted. Some experts pointed it to past psychological trauma being responsible for the phantom pains or choppy back alley augmentation techniques. Keah was more inclined to believe in the latter, especially considering the history of how he’d gotten the aug in the first place.
The OverDriver should have been gone just as his right hand was gone. He saw the crash along with a hundred thousand people through the live streams that day. The front hood was up in smoke, tumbling and spinning like a jagged storm of sharp and hurt. The last thing Keah saw was a Cacadeus EM van zooming up on the driveway before the video recording cut off. The psychedelic hellscape of the Duat made him seem more and more like a ghost, as the lurid beats of the shock jockeys in the background pumped up the rhythm, much to the enjoyment of the crowd of moving bodies.
There were very few things that could surprise Keah. His time in the Death Derby had weeded out any sense of shock remaining in him after the Pilgrimage. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down for one second on the towering asphalt of the Detroit Stacks. The former racer couldn’t figure out whether he was staring at a carefully constructed black market tech or whether he was suffering a bout of drug-induced hallucinations. Gaea Naturae didn’t manage to invent cloning technology yet, no matter how much the conspiracy buffs on the Labyrinth liked to crow about. Or maybe Duat was really the land of the dead.
He stared at himself through that dark abyss in the OverDriver’s helmet, his reflection glimmering in the depths of the polarized glass. Meanwhile, the OverDriver’s hand grazed the rim of a shot glass, the liver-curdling scent of his drink bleeding through Keah’s filters. For all of his quirks, alcoholism was not the Asphalt King’s most recognisable traits. Keah was wondering what other things had changed as the bottom half of the Prism Helm retracted to reveal a mouth, overgrown with peppery hair. Nursing the bottom of the glass with his palm, the racer downed the vile concoction in one movement, his head tilted back.
Something had changed after that crash. This OverDriver wasn’t the same one he tied with on the Detroit Stacks a decade ago.
“ So, care to join me for a drink?” The OverDriver lifted his empty glass up and shook it slightly, the ice cubes jingling against the sides like a bell. He nodded towards a shot glass to the left of him on the bartop. “ Don’t worry. Drinks are on me. Relajante, Demon. Does it look like I’ve got five Tinmen in the shadows waiting to fridge you? Sit down. 24 hour delivery service must be just downright tiring for a turboblazer like you.”
“ Pay’s good.” Keah lied.
“ I bet.” The OverDriver chuckles were like the coughs of someone on their deathbed. “ How many years has it been since we last met in Detroit? -”
“ We’re not in Detroit anymore.” Keah cut him off, impatient with his rival’s antics. “ Bio-eth grew out of fashion 10 years ago.” He crossed his arms, still standing arm’s length away from his former rival. “ What are you doing in the Reclaim Zone, Mackwell?”
That got a reaction. The hand gripped around the perspiring shot glass was paper white now, shaking. OverDriver’s “ I don’t go by that name anymore, Keah.” He repeated it, pronouncing it as if the name was a wad of chewing gum grinding in between his teeth. “Keah. People whisper your true name on the streets but you pretend that it doesn’t exist. Living as someone you aren’t. It must have been like tearing off your right arm.” His helmet then turned to gaze at Keah’s shivering prosthetic. “Oh, right. Your hand. You’re still sore about that, aren’t you? ” The OverDriver raised out a hand and gripped his shoulder like an iron vice, patting it firmly. “ What happened down in the Stateboard…... It was bound to happen eventually. I needed to get your wheels rusted a little.”
Keah brushed the hand off him like it was an ant. “ Answer the damn question.”
“ Why so defensive, Demon?” The OverDriver lifted his own glass towards him as an offering. “ Can’t we just talk like old frie-”
That was another one of OverDriver’s tendencies. Being a talker. He supposed that was how he became so popular with all the media hubs. Without a word, Keah snatched the shot glass from his grasp. A single twitch and his mechanical phalanges flexed, powderizing the shot glass into glitter that drifted away onto the dancefloor. “ You’re not my friend.” Keah grunted out. “Now, answer the question.”
“ Well, after I show you a little something, we’ll be friends in no time flat.” Sliding his hand into the innards of his greasy leather jacket, he produced. He threw a sheaf of laminated documents on the bartop. Physical information was a rarity nowadays with the advent of holo projections and Labyrinth info processors. Keah examined them closer. No, not any ordinary documents.
Pictures. Pictures of Samoans. Pacific Islanders. Polynesians. Islanders that were thought to have been lost forever to the neon tide. Faces frozen in pain, loneliness, desolation. In damp cells. In labs where they were prodded on. In chop shops where young children limbs were being replaced with metal and chrome. Guinea pigs. How long? How many had been lost while he stayed ignorant, racing about like a hooligan in the Death Derby? The supposed ‘ lies ‘ that were the foundation of Ark had been vindicated. His stomach churned, knees wobbling, as the frantic rhythm of the Duat's beats didn't help the broiling headache that pounded in his head.
it's not your fault. it's not your fault. it's not your fault. you could have known. just drive the fuck away from this mess.
Keah’s nails bit into the meat of his palm, drawing blood whilst OverDriver sidled over, gauging Keah’s reaction, seemingly apathetic to the content of the pictures which he had procured. He then spoke out. Not in that calm, nonchalant voice that had been one of his most emblematic characteristics on the track, the ability to stay cool underneath pressure. No, it was strained. Like a piece of twine stretched to the point of nearly snapping. Desperate.
“ Have I got your attention now? Good. All you need to do is provide information for me on Petrukov’s campaign. On a need to know basis, of course. You’re her driver so try and make small talk with her. Find out her plans. Her secrets. Everything that you can possibly know and relay it back to me. In return, I’ll work something out with my higher ups. See if we can’t do a little pro quid quo, you know what I mean.”
The OverDriver flicked something tiny and twinkling towards him, Keah catching it in his palm. He looked at it. A platinum cred-chip with the logo of Amalgamation laser etched on the alloy. Keah looked back towards OverDriver, staring at his former rival in a new light.
“ A little million and a half should help you swallow it down. ” The OverDriver sidled over towards him “ So, what do you say- URK!”
Keah was never really a man of violence. He never really had the propensity for merc work that some of his other cousins in the Ark had. Still, there was a certain satisfaction feeling meat squish underneath your titanium fingers. The OverDriver was gasping, trying to gulp down precious oxygen, as Keah clamped his eight-fingered cybernetic aug around his throat.
“ Guess you don’t know me as well as I do.” Keah lifted the still gagging OverDriver and slammed his head against the side of the bartop. Keah heard the sound of something shattering. Good. The OverDriver groaned, his neck still pressed against the side of the table. “ So, where are my people?”
“ Where you’ll go soon if you don’t start cooperating.” The racer squirmed his head around to look up at Keah. The blue eye peering through the cracks in his helmet narrowed in a satisfied grin. “ Under my wheels.”
Just before Keah could ask what OverDriver meant, the dance floor screeched to a halt, its momentum stilling as something hammered the walls of the Duat, shifting the ceiling. Suddenly, one of the counters - where the famed UltraBartender of the Duat served - came crashing down, the wall behind it compacting and crashing down, bottles of oriental liquors and strange tinctures raining down on their guests. Keah could see a smooth ooblong chassis sailed through the air and flattened two unfortunate sods that were standing near to the Ultrabartender into gauche hood ornaments. As the dust settled, Keah could make out what exactly had invaded the sovereignty of the Land of the Dead. A Victory Ultra. Prototypical. Experimental. Only one model existed in the world and it belonged to the person whose throat he was crushing in his grip. The wheels turned and twin argon headlights focused in on Keah. 1,800 horsepower of ethyl fueled 2-ton titanium tore through the now screaming crowds and straight towards both him and OverDriver. Something was odd, though. There was no one driving the car. Keah just managed to let go of the OverDriver, diving out of the way. The wind knocked out of his lungs, Keah shakily stood up, watching as the OverDriver had now entered the driver's seat, both of his hands taking the reigns of the gull winged steering wheel.
" Like I told you once before, Drift Demon, you either have a quick death or live a quick dream if you want to live in this world." The engine suddenly roared up a notch as the OverDriver pressed down on the throttle. " Now, let's see which one you'll choose today."
Where is Moskau?
It's started when an alien device did what it did
And stuck itself upon its wrist with secrets that it hid
Now he's got superpowers, he's no ordinary kid
He's........
And stuck itself upon its wrist with secrets that it hid
Now he's got superpowers, he's no ordinary kid
He's........
BEN 10
BENJAMIN KIRBY TENNYSON ♦ MIDDLE SCHOOL STUDENT ♦ BELLWOOD, CALIFORNIA
POWERS
With the mysterious watch-like device named the Omnitrix, Ben can transform for a limited time into a variety of aliens, each possessing their own unique abilities and powers for any emergency or situation he can think of.
POWERS
With the mysterious watch-like device named the Omnitrix, Ben can transform for a limited time into a variety of aliens, each possessing their own unique abilities and powers for any emergency or situation he can think of.
Character Concept
The main thorough line that I want to center Ben's development around is the concept of innocence and how to maintain its value in a world where so many people are quick to toss it away. This is ultimately a bildungsroman where Ben will encounter multiple obstacles in many circumstances that will force him to mature quickly. Do we take things in our youth foregranted? What does it mean to grow up? How do you deal with the past? Those are the questions I want to explore. The Omnitrix, as well,plays an intrinsic role as a supporting 'character' for Ben. I think it's important to elevate it beyond the role of being a simple Macguffin for Ben to use at a moment's notice.
Needless to say, there will be massive divergences from canon which I'll be taking liberties with in order to take a more interesting route. I'll be taking inspiration from every series of Ben 10 produced, picking and choosing which elements I like best. The world of Ben 10 is massive and full of self-contradictory nonsense that needs to be excised one piece at a time.
Needless to say, there will be massive divergences from canon which I'll be taking liberties with in order to take a more interesting route. I'll be taking inspiration from every series of Ben 10 produced, picking and choosing which elements I like best. The world of Ben 10 is massive and full of self-contradictory nonsense that needs to be excised one piece at a time.
C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:
Remember that cartoon that you obsess about every time you woke up on the weekend, buy every toy, every single piece of merchandise imaginable? That was Ben 10 for me. I don't know what was the exact formula that made Ben 10 the hit it was and still is today. Well, the original series anyway. I have mixed opinions about the follow ups but I consider the original to be a classic that everyone should watch.
The story that I want to tell is a retelling of Ben's origin story, shifting the scene from a country spanning road trip to a middle school mystery thriller. The central narrative focuses on Ben navigating the troubles of being a public school student whilst also simultaneously working to investigate the mysteries of Grandpa Max's past and how it relates to the posthumous gift that he gave him for his 10th birthday: the Omnitrix. The more he investigates, the more he finds out and peels away the layers of Bellwood's hidden conspiracies.....
The story that I want to tell is a retelling of Ben's origin story, shifting the scene from a country spanning road trip to a middle school mystery thriller. The central narrative focuses on Ben navigating the troubles of being a public school student whilst also simultaneously working to investigate the mysteries of Grandpa Max's past and how it relates to the posthumous gift that he gave him for his 10th birthday: the Omnitrix. The more he investigates, the more he finds out and peels away the layers of Bellwood's hidden conspiracies.....
S A M P L E P O S T:
San Alonso is quieter than normal, Ben thinks. Here, school, homework, chores and traffic jams are far away. He watches the fishing tackle bob up and down in the forlorn creek of the river, enticing the underwater critters that dwell in its waters. A barely visible fishing line connects it with a pole choppily crafted from fallen sticks and duct tape. Continuing on from the creek, the current cuts through the split halves of a beaver dam and meanders down the curved valleys of Bellwood.
The line suddenly pulls taut. Ben scrambles up, tossing up dead leaves, as he grabs the fishing rod and begins yanking it. It’s a tug of war as the grey shadow underwater pulls back at the same time. Finally, he wrenches it and tosses it upwards. The fish lands with a wet thud on the black dirt, flopping its body uselessly. . It’s a monster alright. He can barely hold it in his hands. It batters and beats at his face with its tail. Hoisting it up by the tail,
“ Grandpa! Come and see this! “ He shouts out. No one replies. “Grandpa? Grandpa? You - “ Wait. His eyes furrow. Why was he calling for Grandpa?
In the middle of his excitement, he’s forgotten that Grandpa Max is gone. Not for a holiday, not for a business trip but gone forever. Dead. He looks back at the wriggling fish in his hand. It’s smaller now. Upside down. Powerless. Just like him. Anger bubbles up within him and for a moment, he wants to wring its gills. Stomp it with a rock. Scream how unfair it is that Grandpa Max dies but Morningstar can’t. Stupid Gwen. Stupid Morningstar. Stupid mom. Stupid dad. Stupid school. Stupid councillor. He kicks a tuft of grass in frustration, still holding the fish in the air. Grandpa Max’s words come back to him.
Catch and release, Ben. That way, you catch bigger next time.
His expression softens. Holding the fish with two hands, he lets it gently sink back into the water. The fish squirms and writhes away, jetting off into the inky depths. Ben sighs. The watch on his left hand now feels like a lead weight that’ll make him sink into the ground if he isn’t careful. He looks at it. The black wristband is rubber thick, clamping so hard on Ben’s wrist that his hands feel slightly numb. The hourglass shaped dial is cracked, blinking a neon green. It almost seems alive at times. Why would Grandpa Max give him a watch that can’t even tell him the time?
He blinks and notices that the shadows of the tree have shifted. The sun glows a dying orange, beginning to set into late noon.
Time to go back before he gets yelled at.
Six Six is reliable. Over a hundred warlords and tinpot system dictators have him as their number one contact. He has never killed a single one of his own clients. No amount of bribes, false promises or blackmail can turn him away from his quarry. That is the foundation of a reputation.
Six Six is deadly. He has killed the unkillable, the undefeated and unstoppable. He has hunted down men hiding behind armies, dreadnoughts and in other galaxies. His reputation is mere bark unless you can back it up with a bite.
Six Six is prepared. He reviews each of his targets movements, behavioural patterns and habitation thoroughly before beginning his execution. His armor has been constantly changed and modified over centuries to near perfection. Dying is for those who lack preparation and foresight. Preparation is how you make a reputation into a legacy.
He was not prepared, however, for the most powerful device in the universe. The shoulder mounted camera protruding from his pauldron zooms in on what is attached on the young homo sapien’s wrist. The frequency of the radiation signature makes any denial foolish. Galvan technology cannot be replicated or faked, even by Cerebrocrustaceans. No one can mistake the device for anything else but the Omnitrix. He briefly takes out a low-band particle pistol from his side holster, aiming it at the human child’s head. One killshot. He hesitates, though. The bounty hunter is not one to believe in fables or myths but if Vilgax the Conqueror was felled by a user of the Omnitrix, it would be foolish of him to engage. He activates his photo-chromatic array, dousing himself in a shimmering field, before he flies off on his twin-jet boosterpack soundlessly. He relays one single short message to his client.
CONFIRMATION: OMNITRIX SIGHTED
The line suddenly pulls taut. Ben scrambles up, tossing up dead leaves, as he grabs the fishing rod and begins yanking it. It’s a tug of war as the grey shadow underwater pulls back at the same time. Finally, he wrenches it and tosses it upwards. The fish lands with a wet thud on the black dirt, flopping its body uselessly. . It’s a monster alright. He can barely hold it in his hands. It batters and beats at his face with its tail. Hoisting it up by the tail,
“ Grandpa! Come and see this! “ He shouts out. No one replies. “Grandpa? Grandpa? You - “ Wait. His eyes furrow. Why was he calling for Grandpa?
In the middle of his excitement, he’s forgotten that Grandpa Max is gone. Not for a holiday, not for a business trip but gone forever. Dead. He looks back at the wriggling fish in his hand. It’s smaller now. Upside down. Powerless. Just like him. Anger bubbles up within him and for a moment, he wants to wring its gills. Stomp it with a rock. Scream how unfair it is that Grandpa Max dies but Morningstar can’t. Stupid Gwen. Stupid Morningstar. Stupid mom. Stupid dad. Stupid school. Stupid councillor. He kicks a tuft of grass in frustration, still holding the fish in the air. Grandpa Max’s words come back to him.
Catch and release, Ben. That way, you catch bigger next time.
His expression softens. Holding the fish with two hands, he lets it gently sink back into the water. The fish squirms and writhes away, jetting off into the inky depths. Ben sighs. The watch on his left hand now feels like a lead weight that’ll make him sink into the ground if he isn’t careful. He looks at it. The black wristband is rubber thick, clamping so hard on Ben’s wrist that his hands feel slightly numb. The hourglass shaped dial is cracked, blinking a neon green. It almost seems alive at times. Why would Grandpa Max give him a watch that can’t even tell him the time?
He blinks and notices that the shadows of the tree have shifted. The sun glows a dying orange, beginning to set into late noon.
Time to go back before he gets yelled at.
Six Six is reliable. Over a hundred warlords and tinpot system dictators have him as their number one contact. He has never killed a single one of his own clients. No amount of bribes, false promises or blackmail can turn him away from his quarry. That is the foundation of a reputation.
Six Six is deadly. He has killed the unkillable, the undefeated and unstoppable. He has hunted down men hiding behind armies, dreadnoughts and in other galaxies. His reputation is mere bark unless you can back it up with a bite.
Six Six is prepared. He reviews each of his targets movements, behavioural patterns and habitation thoroughly before beginning his execution. His armor has been constantly changed and modified over centuries to near perfection. Dying is for those who lack preparation and foresight. Preparation is how you make a reputation into a legacy.
He was not prepared, however, for the most powerful device in the universe. The shoulder mounted camera protruding from his pauldron zooms in on what is attached on the young homo sapien’s wrist. The frequency of the radiation signature makes any denial foolish. Galvan technology cannot be replicated or faked, even by Cerebrocrustaceans. No one can mistake the device for anything else but the Omnitrix. He briefly takes out a low-band particle pistol from his side holster, aiming it at the human child’s head. One killshot. He hesitates, though. The bounty hunter is not one to believe in fables or myths but if Vilgax the Conqueror was felled by a user of the Omnitrix, it would be foolish of him to engage. He activates his photo-chromatic array, dousing himself in a shimmering field, before he flies off on his twin-jet boosterpack soundlessly. He relays one single short message to his client.
CONFIRMATION: OMNITRIX SIGHTED
It was a complete smorgasbord of individuals from all over the continent, tall figures overshadowing Lak Lok’s diminutive kobold size with the exception of the otter. Lak Lok inwardly cursed whatever gods were responsible for making a small percentage of races on the continent vertically challenged. He nearly scraped his head against the bony pelvis of the goliath, moving through the crowded room and making sure that he didn’t get stamped on in the process.
His scaled skin began to feel stiff as he approached the genasi, the air around her warm and dry as bone. The large cauldron roped on his back jangled back and forth as he maneuvered and slipped in between the legs of people, trying to find a space where he could rest and sit down. All of these different ingredients together would make a unique recipe indeed….or a complete disaster. Who was he to question Garakkg’s methods?
He couldn’t help but notice that the moon elf and the fire demon were cuddling together like long lost lovers. It was hard to see the genasi’s expression from his height but it looked as if she was glowing red by the cheeks in embarrassment. Ah, the wonders of inter species relationships. He held his tongue at asking whether or not he could have officiate their wedding under Garrakg’s domain.
Temple first, Lak Lok. Temple first.
An odd aroma of burning pipeweed was coursing through the air, though. Lak Lok’s tongue flickered out, tasting the smoky fumes of burnt fruit and smooth notes. He slowly turned around to see an old man walk into the room, pipe in hand. This must be the so called A.G. Vein pulsing in his head, Lak Lok’s hand wavered towards his paring knife, pausing as the old man began to recount his story. Lak Lok's raging temper at the geezer's chosen venue simmered down to a partial boil when he heard about his dead wife.
So, it did have something to do with all the missing people in Forsaken. Even though Nowyre Crossroads was miles away from Forsaken, it had still affected the operations of the Burgundy. Lak Lok's vein pulsed as he remembered the frustration he had when he received news of his new centaur sous chef having been found missing in his homestead. Whoever was responsible would pay for that.
Finally fed up with being one of the shortest of the group, he crawled on top of a chair to make himself more visible to his client. Standing on top of the seat, wavering slightly as the chair struggled to hold his weight, he spoke.
“ In spite of your startling lack of culinary expertise and the horrendous quality of this establishment menu…” Lak Lok took a deep breath, controlling himself from pulling his steak knife out and gutting Abraham Garrick to death. “....Garrakg has pointed me to you, Mr Garrick. I shall see to it that I shall exact Garrakg’s vengeance on the scum who did this to your betrothed and sentence them to the bowels of the deep fryer. You have my word. ”
His scaled skin began to feel stiff as he approached the genasi, the air around her warm and dry as bone. The large cauldron roped on his back jangled back and forth as he maneuvered and slipped in between the legs of people, trying to find a space where he could rest and sit down. All of these different ingredients together would make a unique recipe indeed….or a complete disaster. Who was he to question Garakkg’s methods?
He couldn’t help but notice that the moon elf and the fire demon were cuddling together like long lost lovers. It was hard to see the genasi’s expression from his height but it looked as if she was glowing red by the cheeks in embarrassment. Ah, the wonders of inter species relationships. He held his tongue at asking whether or not he could have officiate their wedding under Garrakg’s domain.
Temple first, Lak Lok. Temple first.
An odd aroma of burning pipeweed was coursing through the air, though. Lak Lok’s tongue flickered out, tasting the smoky fumes of burnt fruit and smooth notes. He slowly turned around to see an old man walk into the room, pipe in hand. This must be the so called A.G. Vein pulsing in his head, Lak Lok’s hand wavered towards his paring knife, pausing as the old man began to recount his story. Lak Lok's raging temper at the geezer's chosen venue simmered down to a partial boil when he heard about his dead wife.
So, it did have something to do with all the missing people in Forsaken. Even though Nowyre Crossroads was miles away from Forsaken, it had still affected the operations of the Burgundy. Lak Lok's vein pulsed as he remembered the frustration he had when he received news of his new centaur sous chef having been found missing in his homestead. Whoever was responsible would pay for that.
Finally fed up with being one of the shortest of the group, he crawled on top of a chair to make himself more visible to his client. Standing on top of the seat, wavering slightly as the chair struggled to hold his weight, he spoke.
“ In spite of your startling lack of culinary expertise and the horrendous quality of this establishment menu…” Lak Lok took a deep breath, controlling himself from pulling his steak knife out and gutting Abraham Garrick to death. “....Garrakg has pointed me to you, Mr Garrick. I shall see to it that I shall exact Garrakg’s vengeance on the scum who did this to your betrothed and sentence them to the bowels of the deep fryer. You have my word. ”
It's started when an alien device did what it did
And stuck itself upon its wrist with secrets that it hid
Now he's got superpowers, he's no ordinary kid
He's........
And stuck itself upon its wrist with secrets that it hid
Now he's got superpowers, he's no ordinary kid
He's........
BEN 10
BENJAMIN KIRBY TENNYSON ♦ MIDDLE SCHOOL STUDENT ♦ BELLWOOD, CALIFORNIA
POWERS
With the mysterious watch-like device named the Omnitrix, Ben can transform for a limited time into a variety of aliens, each possessing their own unique abilities and powers for any emergency or situation he can think of.
POWERS
With the mysterious watch-like device named the Omnitrix, Ben can transform for a limited time into a variety of aliens, each possessing their own unique abilities and powers for any emergency or situation he can think of.
Character Concept
The main thorough line that I want to center Ben's development around is the concept of innocence and how to maintain its value in a world where so many people are quick to toss it away. This is ultimately a bildungsroman where Ben will encounter multiple obstacles in many circumstances that will force him to mature quickly. Do we take things in our youth foregranted? What does it mean to grow up? How do you deal with the past? Those are the questions I want to explore. The Omnitrix, as well,plays an intrinsic role as a supporting 'character' for Ben. I think it's important to elevate it beyond the role of being a simple Macguffin for Ben to use at a moment's notice.
Needless to say, there will be massive divergences from canon which I'll be taking liberties with in order to take a more interesting route. I'll be taking inspiration from every series of Ben 10 produced, picking and choosing which elements I like best. The world of Ben 10 is massive and full of self-contradictory nonsense that needs to be excised one piece at a time.
Needless to say, there will be massive divergences from canon which I'll be taking liberties with in order to take a more interesting route. I'll be taking inspiration from every series of Ben 10 produced, picking and choosing which elements I like best. The world of Ben 10 is massive and full of self-contradictory nonsense that needs to be excised one piece at a time.
C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:
Remember that cartoon that you obsess about every time you woke up on the weekend, buy every toy, every single piece of merchandise imaginable? That was Ben 10 for me. I don't know what was the exact formula that made Ben 10 the hit it was and still is today. Well, the original series anyway. I have mixed opinions about the follow ups but I consider the original to be a classic that everyone should watch.
The story that I want to tell is a retelling of Ben's origin story, shifting the scene from a country spanning road trip to a middle school mystery thriller. The central narrative focuses on Ben navigating the troubles of being a public school student whilst also simultaneously working to investigate the mysteries of Grandpa Max's past and how it relates to the posthumous gift that he gave him for his 10th birthday: the Omnitrix. The more he investigates, the more he finds out and peels away the layers of Bellwood's hidden conspiracies.....
The story that I want to tell is a retelling of Ben's origin story, shifting the scene from a country spanning road trip to a middle school mystery thriller. The central narrative focuses on Ben navigating the troubles of being a public school student whilst also simultaneously working to investigate the mysteries of Grandpa Max's past and how it relates to the posthumous gift that he gave him for his 10th birthday: the Omnitrix. The more he investigates, the more he finds out and peels away the layers of Bellwood's hidden conspiracies.....
S A M P L E P O S T:
San Alonso is quieter than normal, Ben thinks. Here, school, homework, chores and traffic jams are far away. He watches the fishing tackle bob up and down in the forlorn creek of the river, enticing the underwater critters that dwell in its waters. A barely visible fishing line connects it with a pole choppily crafted from fallen sticks and duct tape. Continuing on from the creek, the current cuts through the split halves of a beaver dam and meanders down the curved valleys of Bellwood.
The line suddenly pulls taut. Ben scrambles up, tossing up dead leaves, as he grabs the fishing rod and begins yanking it. It’s a tug of war as the grey shadow underwater pulls back at the same time. Finally, he wrenches it and tosses it upwards. The fish lands with a wet thud on the black dirt, flopping its body uselessly. . It’s a monster alright. He can barely hold it in his hands. It batters and beats at his face with its tail. Hoisting it up by the tail,
“ Grandpa! Come and see this! “ He shouts out. No one replies. “Grandpa? Grandpa? You - “ Wait. His eyes furrow. Why was he calling for Grandpa?
In the middle of his excitement, he’s forgotten that Grandpa Max is gone. Not for a holiday, not for a business trip but gone forever. Dead. He looks back at the wriggling fish in his hand. It’s smaller now. Upside down. Powerless. Just like him. Anger bubbles up within him and for a moment, he wants to wring its gills. Stomp it with a rock. Scream how unfair it is that Grandpa Max dies but Morningstar can’t. Stupid Gwen. Stupid Morningstar. Stupid mom. Stupid dad. Stupid school. Stupid councillor. He kicks a tuft of grass in frustration, still holding the fish in the air. Grandpa Max’s words come back to him.
Catch and release, Ben. That way, you catch bigger next time.
His expression softens. Holding the fish with two hands, he lets it gently sink back into the water. The fish squirms and writhes away, jetting off into the inky depths. Ben sighs. The watch on his left hand now feels like a lead weight that’ll make him sink into the ground if he isn’t careful. He looks at it. The black wristband is rubber thick, clamping so hard on Ben’s wrist that his hands feel slightly numb. The hourglass shaped dial is cracked, blinking a neon green. It almost seems alive at times. Why would Grandpa Max give him a watch that can’t even tell him the time?
He blinks and notices that the shadows of the tree have shifted. The sun glows a dying orange, beginning to set into late noon.
Time to go back before he gets yelled at.
Six Six is reliable. Over a hundred warlords and tinpot system dictators have him as their number one contact. He has never killed a single one of his own clients. No amount of bribes, false promises or blackmail can turn him away from his quarry. That is the foundation of a reputation.
Six Six is deadly. He has killed the unkillable, the undefeated and unstoppable. He has hunted down men hiding behind armies, dreadnoughts and in other galaxies. His reputation is mere bark unless you can back it up with a bite.
Six Six is prepared. He reviews each of his targets movements, behavioural patterns and habitation thoroughly before beginning his execution. His armor has been constantly changed and modified over centuries to near perfection. Dying is for those who lack preparation and foresight. Preparation is how you make a reputation into a legacy.
He was not prepared, however, for the most powerful device in the universe. The shoulder mounted camera protruding from his pauldron zooms in on what is attached on the young homo sapien’s wrist. The frequency of the radiation signature makes any denial foolish. Galvan technology cannot be replicated or faked, even by Cerebrocrustaceans. No one can mistake the device for anything else but the Omnitrix. He briefly takes out a low-band particle pistol from his side holster, aiming it at the human child’s head. One killshot. He hesitates, though. The bounty hunter is not one to believe in fables or myths but if Vilgax the Conqueror was felled by a user of the Omnitrix, it would be foolish of him to engage. He activates his photo-chromatic array, dousing himself in a shimmering field, before he flies off on his twin-jet boosterpack soundlessly. He relays one single short message to his client.
CONFIRMATION: OMNITRIX SIGHTED
The line suddenly pulls taut. Ben scrambles up, tossing up dead leaves, as he grabs the fishing rod and begins yanking it. It’s a tug of war as the grey shadow underwater pulls back at the same time. Finally, he wrenches it and tosses it upwards. The fish lands with a wet thud on the black dirt, flopping its body uselessly. . It’s a monster alright. He can barely hold it in his hands. It batters and beats at his face with its tail. Hoisting it up by the tail,
“ Grandpa! Come and see this! “ He shouts out. No one replies. “Grandpa? Grandpa? You - “ Wait. His eyes furrow. Why was he calling for Grandpa?
In the middle of his excitement, he’s forgotten that Grandpa Max is gone. Not for a holiday, not for a business trip but gone forever. Dead. He looks back at the wriggling fish in his hand. It’s smaller now. Upside down. Powerless. Just like him. Anger bubbles up within him and for a moment, he wants to wring its gills. Stomp it with a rock. Scream how unfair it is that Grandpa Max dies but Morningstar can’t. Stupid Gwen. Stupid Morningstar. Stupid mom. Stupid dad. Stupid school. Stupid councillor. He kicks a tuft of grass in frustration, still holding the fish in the air. Grandpa Max’s words come back to him.
Catch and release, Ben. That way, you catch bigger next time.
His expression softens. Holding the fish with two hands, he lets it gently sink back into the water. The fish squirms and writhes away, jetting off into the inky depths. Ben sighs. The watch on his left hand now feels like a lead weight that’ll make him sink into the ground if he isn’t careful. He looks at it. The black wristband is rubber thick, clamping so hard on Ben’s wrist that his hands feel slightly numb. The hourglass shaped dial is cracked, blinking a neon green. It almost seems alive at times. Why would Grandpa Max give him a watch that can’t even tell him the time?
He blinks and notices that the shadows of the tree have shifted. The sun glows a dying orange, beginning to set into late noon.
Time to go back before he gets yelled at.
Six Six is reliable. Over a hundred warlords and tinpot system dictators have him as their number one contact. He has never killed a single one of his own clients. No amount of bribes, false promises or blackmail can turn him away from his quarry. That is the foundation of a reputation.
Six Six is deadly. He has killed the unkillable, the undefeated and unstoppable. He has hunted down men hiding behind armies, dreadnoughts and in other galaxies. His reputation is mere bark unless you can back it up with a bite.
Six Six is prepared. He reviews each of his targets movements, behavioural patterns and habitation thoroughly before beginning his execution. His armor has been constantly changed and modified over centuries to near perfection. Dying is for those who lack preparation and foresight. Preparation is how you make a reputation into a legacy.
He was not prepared, however, for the most powerful device in the universe. The shoulder mounted camera protruding from his pauldron zooms in on what is attached on the young homo sapien’s wrist. The frequency of the radiation signature makes any denial foolish. Galvan technology cannot be replicated or faked, even by Cerebrocrustaceans. No one can mistake the device for anything else but the Omnitrix. He briefly takes out a low-band particle pistol from his side holster, aiming it at the human child’s head. One killshot. He hesitates, though. The bounty hunter is not one to believe in fables or myths but if Vilgax the Conqueror was felled by a user of the Omnitrix, it would be foolish of him to engage. He activates his photo-chromatic array, dousing himself in a shimmering field, before he flies off on his twin-jet boosterpack soundlessly. He relays one single short message to his client.
CONFIRMATION: OMNITRIX SIGHTED
Commander Lazer's Guide On How to LARP as Kenshiro In Underrail
1) Pick your stats. Pump up your Dex until it's 10 and then, main Agility.
2) Focus on Melee and Psychokinesis as well as Dodge and Evasion for your skills.
3) For your first feats, pick Sprint (Ability that gives you 30 movement points for 2 turns) and Recklessness (7% extra critical chance for your fists of fury.)
4) You must focus on getting the two most important psionic spells in your build: Force Emission and TK Proxy. This essentially doubles the damage of your fists and with TK Proxy, triples it, as long as you level up Psychokinesis.
5) Get these following feats as you level up.
- Nimble (Lowers Armor Penalty by 15% and provides bonuses to dodge and evasion if your Armor Penalty is at 0)
- Opportunist (25% more damage when stunned or 15% more damage when slowed, incapacitated or dazed)
- Cheap Shots (50% more critical damage for your fists and 15% chance to incapacitate a target.)
- Combo (If you successfully land a third punch, that punch will deal 100% more damage (essentially 2x) and have 20% chance to stun the target.)
- Improved Unarmed Combat (Your fists deal 20% more damage and have a 5% chance to daze target)
- Lightning Punches (The action point cost of your fist is reduced by 2 if your armor penalty is below 20%)
- Fancy Footwork (You gain 8 movements points whenever you hit someone successfully with a melee attack. The maximum amount cannot be higher than double of your total.)
- Critical Power (Increases the damage of your weapon and unarmed critical hits by a further 50%)
- Expose Weakness (Special attack that reduces mechanical resistance and damage threshold by 50%. Devastating on armored enemies)
- Expertise (Increases the damage of your punches by 1 every time you level up. This maxes out to 20 extra damage)
- Force User (The psi cost of Force Emission is reduced down to 4 psi points per use and Force Field and TK Punch become amazing side options.)
- Blitz (Convert all your movement points into action points for a maximum of 20 extra AP)
Essentially, at endgame, your unarmed fists are the most powerful weapon.
- You can attack at least 12 times in a single turn, more, if you have adrenaline.
- At least, 250% critical bonus or more for your fists of power.
- TK Proxy + Force Emission + Damage + High Crit Chance from High Dexterity + Absurd Critical Damage = 100 damage in a single punch.
- Expose Weakness chops down robots or enemies that have absurd armor levels.
- With Fancy Footwork, Sprint and Nimble, you can basically fucking juke around your enemies all day every day.
- Pair this with grenades for AOE damage and you can kill 6 enemies in a single round using only your fists of fury.
If you want to get even more absurd, add in 75 Temporal Manipulation points and suddenly, you gain two important spells: limited temporal increment and psycho-temporal contraction. The former lowers the cooldown of grenades and throwables and your abilities whilst the latter gives you 30 extra points of AP and 20 points of MP.
This means that with Adrenaline, good Tabi boots and luck; you can potentially get up to more than 30 punches a round.
Your worst enemies are: enemies with hit-scan psi spells, super tanky enemies, large amounts of tanky enemies and enemies with high dodge or evasion.
TL;DR: Psi-monks are fucking overpowered as shit.
1) Pick your stats. Pump up your Dex until it's 10 and then, main Agility.
2) Focus on Melee and Psychokinesis as well as Dodge and Evasion for your skills.
3) For your first feats, pick Sprint (Ability that gives you 30 movement points for 2 turns) and Recklessness (7% extra critical chance for your fists of fury.)
4) You must focus on getting the two most important psionic spells in your build: Force Emission and TK Proxy. This essentially doubles the damage of your fists and with TK Proxy, triples it, as long as you level up Psychokinesis.
5) Get these following feats as you level up.
- Nimble (Lowers Armor Penalty by 15% and provides bonuses to dodge and evasion if your Armor Penalty is at 0)
- Opportunist (25% more damage when stunned or 15% more damage when slowed, incapacitated or dazed)
- Cheap Shots (50% more critical damage for your fists and 15% chance to incapacitate a target.)
- Combo (If you successfully land a third punch, that punch will deal 100% more damage (essentially 2x) and have 20% chance to stun the target.)
- Improved Unarmed Combat (Your fists deal 20% more damage and have a 5% chance to daze target)
- Lightning Punches (The action point cost of your fist is reduced by 2 if your armor penalty is below 20%)
- Fancy Footwork (You gain 8 movements points whenever you hit someone successfully with a melee attack. The maximum amount cannot be higher than double of your total.)
- Critical Power (Increases the damage of your weapon and unarmed critical hits by a further 50%)
- Expose Weakness (Special attack that reduces mechanical resistance and damage threshold by 50%. Devastating on armored enemies)
- Expertise (Increases the damage of your punches by 1 every time you level up. This maxes out to 20 extra damage)
- Force User (The psi cost of Force Emission is reduced down to 4 psi points per use and Force Field and TK Punch become amazing side options.)
- Blitz (Convert all your movement points into action points for a maximum of 20 extra AP)
Essentially, at endgame, your unarmed fists are the most powerful weapon.
- You can attack at least 12 times in a single turn, more, if you have adrenaline.
- At least, 250% critical bonus or more for your fists of power.
- TK Proxy + Force Emission + Damage + High Crit Chance from High Dexterity + Absurd Critical Damage = 100 damage in a single punch.
- Expose Weakness chops down robots or enemies that have absurd armor levels.
- With Fancy Footwork, Sprint and Nimble, you can basically fucking juke around your enemies all day every day.
- Pair this with grenades for AOE damage and you can kill 6 enemies in a single round using only your fists of fury.
If you want to get even more absurd, add in 75 Temporal Manipulation points and suddenly, you gain two important spells: limited temporal increment and psycho-temporal contraction. The former lowers the cooldown of grenades and throwables and your abilities whilst the latter gives you 30 extra points of AP and 20 points of MP.
This means that with Adrenaline, good Tabi boots and luck; you can potentially get up to more than 30 punches a round.
Your worst enemies are: enemies with hit-scan psi spells, super tanky enemies, large amounts of tanky enemies and enemies with high dodge or evasion.
TL;DR: Psi-monks are fucking overpowered as shit.
THE CHRONICLES OF PINEAPPLE PIZZA - YEAST RISING
Present Day - Mountain City
Pineapple Pizza found that human biology was so.....simple compared to the symmetrical and geometrical perfection of pizza physiology. There were only three things that a pizza had to be worried about: the dough, sauce and toppings. Humans, on the other hand, had a whole host of toppings. Nervous systems, hormone glands, sweat glands and skeletons. A casserole of illogical design.
" Sir." His assistant, Kiwi Pizza, arrived in his dressing room, carrying a pizza box with several scribbled notepads on it. " They're ready."
Adjusting his suit and tie, Pineapple Pizza urged his human skin suit to move forth, using his superior pizza mental control to stimulate the remnants of a rudimentary nervous system within John Schnatter’s body. He ignored the strange babblings of the humans around him, moving through a series of tunnels before finding himself standing in full view on top of a proscenium stage.
Before him laid an army. Rows upon rows of humans dressed in aprons and caps emblazoned with the symbol of PAPA JOHNS(™), with pizza cutters hanging from their belts and rifles in their hands. A military force that could disassemble entire nations and leave the world trembling at the power of pizza. A rogue mercenary operation that controlled the flow and production of the pizza economy.
" Gentlemen, Operation Pizza Delivery has been a success. All of the major commercial pizza corporations are now under our control. We have a global monopoly on pizza. Before we begin our operations in Mountain City, I wish to dash some rumours that I like pizza."
He paused for a full five minutes before continuing.
" I do not like pizza.” His voice lowered an octave lower, whispering into the microphone. “ I love pizza."
" Throughout my life, I have found and witnessed many types of pizzas. I have found that pizzas are the solution to our enigmas. For example, you go to Papa John's, order an 18 inch and discover that you can't eat your pizza backwards. An enigma. The solution?"
He looked towards the crowd expectedly before sighing in mock dissapointment.
" Stuffed crust pizza. You are a pescatarian and you go out to a nearby pizza parlor, only to realize that every dish on the menu will ruin your carefully planned diet regime. The solution?"
Someone piped out from the back of the crowd.
" Sushi pizza."
" You are a soldier doing your tour in a war-torn African region. You've run out of bullets and all you desire is the taste of a margherita pizza, just like your grandmother baked for you. Unfortunately, no delivery van can reach you."
Another voice, this time from the right side of the atrium.
" Pizza by drone."
" Gluten allergies. Gluten free pizza. Peace treaties. Peace by pizza party. Michelin restaurants. Michelin pizzas. Halloween. Chocolate pizzas."
"What I am trying to say is that I am a simple explorer of pizza. And with your help, we are now at the precipice of our true goal."
" You see, I want a simple pizza. No gluten free pizzas. No pizza parties. No Michelin pizzas. No sushi pizzas and certainly, no FROZEN PIZZAS!"
" I want only a pizza we can bake. A true pizza. A pizza to end all wars. The sequel to every pizza that has been ever made in history."
He grabbed the microphone and shouted the last sentence in a mad fit, eyes twitching, saliva glands excreting pools of saliva that hung from his jowls, howling upwards to the sky, turning his throat raw.
" A PIZZA FRANCHISE OF MY OWN!"
He then pointed one stubby finger towards the crowd.
" SHALL YOU HAVE PIZZA!?"
As he raised his own pizza cutter in the air, a thousand pizza cutters, shaped by his will and his vision, joined him in unison, shouting the holy word that would flip the world upside down.
" PIZZA!"
" PIZZA!"
" PIZZA!"
" THEN, YOU WILL HAVE PIZZA!”
Present Day - Mountain City
Pineapple Pizza found that human biology was so.....simple compared to the symmetrical and geometrical perfection of pizza physiology. There were only three things that a pizza had to be worried about: the dough, sauce and toppings. Humans, on the other hand, had a whole host of toppings. Nervous systems, hormone glands, sweat glands and skeletons. A casserole of illogical design.
" Sir." His assistant, Kiwi Pizza, arrived in his dressing room, carrying a pizza box with several scribbled notepads on it. " They're ready."
Adjusting his suit and tie, Pineapple Pizza urged his human skin suit to move forth, using his superior pizza mental control to stimulate the remnants of a rudimentary nervous system within John Schnatter’s body. He ignored the strange babblings of the humans around him, moving through a series of tunnels before finding himself standing in full view on top of a proscenium stage.
Before him laid an army. Rows upon rows of humans dressed in aprons and caps emblazoned with the symbol of PAPA JOHNS(™), with pizza cutters hanging from their belts and rifles in their hands. A military force that could disassemble entire nations and leave the world trembling at the power of pizza. A rogue mercenary operation that controlled the flow and production of the pizza economy.
" Gentlemen, Operation Pizza Delivery has been a success. All of the major commercial pizza corporations are now under our control. We have a global monopoly on pizza. Before we begin our operations in Mountain City, I wish to dash some rumours that I like pizza."
He paused for a full five minutes before continuing.
" I do not like pizza.” His voice lowered an octave lower, whispering into the microphone. “ I love pizza."
" Throughout my life, I have found and witnessed many types of pizzas. I have found that pizzas are the solution to our enigmas. For example, you go to Papa John's, order an 18 inch and discover that you can't eat your pizza backwards. An enigma. The solution?"
He looked towards the crowd expectedly before sighing in mock dissapointment.
" Stuffed crust pizza. You are a pescatarian and you go out to a nearby pizza parlor, only to realize that every dish on the menu will ruin your carefully planned diet regime. The solution?"
Someone piped out from the back of the crowd.
" Sushi pizza."
" You are a soldier doing your tour in a war-torn African region. You've run out of bullets and all you desire is the taste of a margherita pizza, just like your grandmother baked for you. Unfortunately, no delivery van can reach you."
Another voice, this time from the right side of the atrium.
" Pizza by drone."
" Gluten allergies. Gluten free pizza. Peace treaties. Peace by pizza party. Michelin restaurants. Michelin pizzas. Halloween. Chocolate pizzas."
"What I am trying to say is that I am a simple explorer of pizza. And with your help, we are now at the precipice of our true goal."
" You see, I want a simple pizza. No gluten free pizzas. No pizza parties. No Michelin pizzas. No sushi pizzas and certainly, no FROZEN PIZZAS!"
" I want only a pizza we can bake. A true pizza. A pizza to end all wars. The sequel to every pizza that has been ever made in history."
He grabbed the microphone and shouted the last sentence in a mad fit, eyes twitching, saliva glands excreting pools of saliva that hung from his jowls, howling upwards to the sky, turning his throat raw.
" A PIZZA FRANCHISE OF MY OWN!"
He then pointed one stubby finger towards the crowd.
" SHALL YOU HAVE PIZZA!?"
As he raised his own pizza cutter in the air, a thousand pizza cutters, shaped by his will and his vision, joined him in unison, shouting the holy word that would flip the world upside down.
" PIZZA!"
" PIZZA!"
" PIZZA!"
" THEN, YOU WILL HAVE PIZZA!”
I did 200 hours of Underrail and finished the DLC and it's fucking amazing. 10/10 best slavic post apocalyptic game ever would trade 10 barrel soups for it.
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