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1 mo ago
Current new name, same piss poor time management
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2 mos ago
if you have a "craving", write a story on your own, that way when you inevitably lose interest and quit you're only wasting your own time
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1 yr ago
factory-engines roar like false lions, blood thunders in the dock-pipes
2 yrs ago
at this moment i would like to ackowledge my post count of 1234, which will never happen again
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"Enough," Peterson said. "I didn't invite you here to fuck around and--"

Void had a smug little grin on his face, Stardust looked about ready to snipe him through the eyeball, and ET found himself wishing to god that he'd just gotten himself suspended when Captain Ong had come calling. He could have been four shots into his happy place back at Midwest Multibar and Grill, or shooting the shit with Andrew and his wife. Instead, he was playing babysitter to a bunch of people who could kill him as easily as blink at him.

All this for a fucking dick measuring contest between Houdini and a walking plasma storm. ET reached out with a sudden vehemence, and before he knew what was happening, he'd sent an executive order down the nightclub's throat. TONDE collapsed. A sudden failure in the power management system sent sparks sizzling across the dance floor's lights. The music crashed altogether, and every light except the one above their table went out in a crackle and a hiss. The robot-controlled bar spun into a haywire fit, shattering the glass bottles on the countertop. Every tuxedo-clad server drone in the building screeched once, and then dropped, lifeless, to the floor.

"Look," he hissed, and pointedly reached out to Stardust's hand holding the book. He plucked it out of her fingers, and leaned back stiffly. "I don't think we have a fucking choice here. We'll have to try and raid Carolex. But it is three in the god. Damn. Morning. Since nobody seems willing to contribute to the mystery of why we almost died, I'd like to get some sleep." The caffeine in his veins would not make that easy, but he was determined and foolhardy. It'd work.

Peterson's carefully crafted face of neutrality slipped as the chaos unfolded around them. His eyes flicked from ET to Tower to Stardust, then back to ET. The four of them were now quite alone in the room. The man's eyes slid down to a ring on his finger, and he relaxed somewhat, but nodded. "Two doors down the street, there is a hotel that I use. Excellent service. I'll put in a request for you all to get separate rooms. Should be ready by the time you get there. We'll reconvene at A Morning Cup in eighteen hours. Will that be enough?

ET did the math. Nine PM. "Yeah. That'll work." He stood, then paused and glanced at Tower and Stardust. "Look," he said. "This is not ideal. If y'all disappear overnight, I won't blame you. I'm gonna see this through, though. For Addison." And so that Captain Ong doesn't excommunicate me. He left without waiting for them.

"Captain, what the fuck have you sent me into here?" He folded his hands in front of him and looked down at the smartDesk in his hotel room. Captain Ong's impassive face looked back at him. He'd just finished recounting everything that had happened, including his probable breach of cover in the nightclub. It wasn't like either of them had actually expected him to keep the cover of being non-powered. It would have come out eventually. But still, maybe they wouldn't notice.

ET snorted. Right.

"Turner, your guess is as good as mine." A shiver of emotion flashed across Ong's face, and she brought a hand to her forehead. "A missile? A coverup? Carolex? You know I can't give you a green light for that, right? Not only are you out of your jurisdiction, we put you under an assumed identity. If it gets out that a MCPD officer was going on raids across the country--" she held up a hand as he opened his mouth. "Look, I'm not arguing the importance. This is a secure channel, isn't it?"

ET nodded. One of his many talents: totally secure, end-to-end-encryption that only he could process properly. Ong smiled tightly. "Right. You almost got nuked out of existence, and clearly whatever was in that bunker was worth risking another regional war between corpos. I just can't given you an official go-ahead. Do whatever you can. I'm not ordering you to, and you can come back if you want. I don't think it's worth the risk, but you're already there. Just know that if it goes south, nobody will be able to cover for you. Remember those old Mission Impossible movies?"

"Yeah." They'd been an old precinct favorite.

"That's you now." Ong nodded curtly, then cut the link.


P R E L U D E T O L A R C E N Y
CURRENT DATE -- 24/05/2047, ~9 AM


A Morning Cup was, ironically, another nightclub, though it was more accurately a jazzhop-bar. It was infinitely more white-collar than TONDE, being near the industrial complexes populated by infinitely more white-collar employees. Having rested, shaved, eaten, hydrated, and not had any alcohol through sheer muscle force of will...ET liked the place.

He settled down at an outside table, waving away a pretty, young waitress with an easy smile. She actually blushed, and for the first time in days, ET felt almost like a man, instead of a sleep deprived lagoon monster.

Honey, you are always a man. Gabbie's voice was thin, refracted through ice. She and Dave were parked near the Carolex Industrial complex in one of the apartment lots. It was public parking, and they had the cloaking engaged. ET had figured it would be safe enough to keep them there.

He'd been the first to arrive, but he liked being punctual. It was time to get this show on the road.
not likely to apply but subscribing for the funsies

@Commander Bork glad to see you're kicking around equally absurd ideas
"Jesus Christ." ET muttered. He'd jumped when Void had shown up, but come on: there'd been no one, and then there'd been someone. It was eerie, and spooked his caffeine-fried, sleep-burned synapses.

"Look," he continued, fixing Stardust with a pointed stare. "Don't be killing anyone. For all the bluster and extraneous acting, the shadowman is right. Going in guns blazing is a surefire way to get Carolex, the other big six, and Envoy herself to shred us into atoms. Nobody actually knows what her powers are, or how they work. We're basically planning this fucking heist in the Garden of Eden."

"He's also exaggerating." ET put a hand to his face and shook his head slowly. Caffeine-withdrawal headache. Fucking great. "Most companies and individuals--even the Big Six--don't have paper-mache nukes. What they might have is a Ritual Circle with a tripwire that...turns us into mummies," he said, nodding acknowledgement to Void. "Usually," he stressed, "magic is weird, complicated, almost impossible to get right, and more trouble than it is worth." Not in this case, he supposed. Carolex Experimental would have devoted plenty of funds to magical safeguarding, especially if Void wasn't the only magical-criminal in the area. Statistically, there might be...two or three others?

He was going off of experience in the MC: Magic was a tempting escape for the...challenges of everyday life. In Midwest City, he'd seen plenty of rituals-gone-wrong, or demons-half-summoned, or Wiccan Sex Magic where the unfortunates had been melded at the hips. But he wasn't an expert--ET figured that had been Hex's area of expertise. He paused, then patted down his pockets briefly. Was it still there?

It was. He pulled out the notebook from Addison's body, and flipped it open. "Fuck," he mumbled, as symbols and ancient languages crisscrossed the pages. "So I've got this fucking notebook," he growled, tossing it onto the table. "Judging from it trying to steal my soul, it was from Hex. Might be useful if we're going to have to deal with magic, since Hex was the closest thing to a magical mastermind I've ever heard of."

.// S U P E R S T A T I S T I C S//.


Just how many people in the world are Super? At a guess, science says 0.04% of the 8 billion humans currently alive. Of those, only a tiny fraction have the truly awe inspiring power levels of Envoy or Fullbright. More common is varying degrees of super strength, hyperintelligence, enhanced senses, etc. There are several categories of enhanced powers.

The first is external, Type 1S. These are science based. Enhanced armor, super serums/drugs, augmentations, etc. These are the most common type of superpower, and explain the large number of supers mentioned above. At a glance, these make up 80% of the supers in the world of 2047.

The second is internal, Type 1M: the "mutants" of the world. They are the longest-running type of power, appearing in some form or another since the start of recorded history. They also tend to be the most variable of superpowers. Outliers do appear: Envoy is hypothesized to be an incredibly powerful mutant, but this is unproved. Mutant powers tend to have little rhyme or reason: some are fast, some are strong, some are loud, some make copies of their body parts, some eat food and manifest the food as body parts. Telekinesis is common, telepathy is highly uncommon. High intellect mutants are one of the primary reasons for the advanced level of technology in the world of 2047. This type makes up 10% of the Supers in the world. Supers such as Stardust full under this category, despite not being born with their powers.

The final is external, type II. These are magic or ritual based powers, and vary widely in their uses and power levels. Hex was one of the primary examples of this type of hero. Type 2M heroes are where the line is blurred. Some have otherworldly agreements with beings of unimaginable power, some use herbs and plants mixed with just the right kind of faith to perform miracles. In theory, anyone can learn these powers, but due to the vast amount of misinformation in the world at large, as well as whispers of a cabal hunting down "unregistered" magicians, this type of Super makes up only 10% of the world, from voodoo doctors to sorcerers.

.// F A L L F R O M G L O R Y //.


How did this cyberpunk world come to pass if the year is just 2047? Supers, that's how. Imagine normal wars with abnormal soldiers. Terrorists given terrific powers. In 2020, a terrorist group by the name of CYAN suddenly gained the ability to trigger earthquakes. The San Andreas fault was always going to be bad, but coaxed by manic operatives, it all but annihilated San Francisco, and sent Los Angeles into a similar tailspin.

In 2028, the world lost faith in supers altogether, when Fullbright tried to bring asteroid 1997XF11 into Earth's atmosphere as it passed by. Fullbright: a flying brick immune to space, who snapped after a bad breakup. Earth's premier team at the time, titled "Earth's Best", was able to mitigate some of the damage, but not nearly enough. The original asteroid would have annihilated all life on Earth. After Earth's Best were done with it, two smaller asteroids struck the Earth: in the Pacific ocean, and the west end of Russia, respectively. The resulting tsunamis and destruction killed millions, and displaced millions more.

Now, in 2047, the US West coast is still recovering from hefty damage, and Southeast Asia is still clawing back to life. The world is different now, just different enough for corporations to take advantage of the damage and bring the world to heel. People have moved away from the danger zones, leading to sprawls like Midwest City and Cedar Fort, South Carolina. But humanity is tough, and if there are no other mega-catastrophes, will survive.

For how long is anyone's guess.

.// A U G M E N T A T I O N S //.


Welcome to the world of 2047, where supertech has advanced the world to levels of tech that humans are wildly unprepared for. The presence of Type 1M (mutant) superpowers led to an explosive growth of tech beyond the wildest dreams of any futurist, leading to a renaissance of body modifications and improvements. Certain superpowered creators and developers learned early on the value of their advanced materials and engineering, and built empires out of metal and composites. This has led to what some call "the twin pillars of augmentation": internal cyberware, and external exorobotics. Also present in the world (to a lesser extent) are biowares.





In SPIRITUM 26 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

In SPIRITUM 26 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
"Hey, Roland. Turn that shit up. It's a vibe."

"Don't you dare touch it, Roland. Some of us are trying to sleep."

Zimmy flashed the other WARDEN--Aine Anders--a winning smile. "Captain Anders," she said, careful to use the proper rank. Couldn't be too careful, now that they were going home. "Shouldn't we be celebrating a bit? They're taking us back to Rassvet, remember?"

"I'll celebrate when I'm back back at the Citadel in my bed, Morander," said Anders, sitting up on her cot and fixing the younger woman with an even stare, daring her to argue. After a pause, Zimmy nodded, and the captain lay down again, draping an arm over her eyes.

"You're a real buzzkill, Cap'n." Zimmy's lips twitched, and Anders laughed, a genuine, throaty sound.

"Watch your mouth, Zimmy. I could have you court-martialed after all these months of backtalk." The Captain's tone didn't match her threats. Of all the Rassvet Prisoners of War Vangar had, Zimmy and Aine had bonded the quickest. Similar families, and similar interests. Zimmy owed the Captain more than a few drinks when they got back to Rassvet after numerous lost bets.

Roland, the guard assigned to their two cells, met Zimmy's eyes and shrugged. Technically, he could do whatever the hell he wanted, being their captor and all. But Captain Anders had a way about her. Even the Vangar guards found it hard to go against her will. "Cap'n's orders," he said, only a practiced professionalism hiding his sarcasm.

With a sigh, Zimmy fell back against her own cot and tugged absently on the manacle on her wrist. Five months without the mist. Almost as bad as five months without a drink. She'd been given plenty of food, company, and entertainment, but compared to the finer things in life, they might as well have waterboarded her every night. Once you learned to fly, you could never sit comfortably on the ground again. Being trapped in a cell for months was even worse, like being tossed from a ship into the ocean with an anchor chained to your leg.

The Palatine tilted slightly--it did that every so often, adjusting to the wind or the mist reactor's output level.

Then the floor tipped beneath her, the walls shook, and the ceiling exploded. Zimmy tipped forward out of her seat, crashing against the bars of her cell with a crack. She forgot how to breathe briefly, rolling to one side. The walls vibrated, sending shudders through her skull and teeth. Slowly, her weight started to lessen, as if the Palatine was dropping.

"Morander! Get the fuck up!" Anders' voice cut through the shock, giving the young WARDEN enough presence of mind to get her feet under her again and look up. Through tears of pain, she saw Roland stumbling up the inclined floor toward her. A spike of rebar stuck out of his shoulder, but the burly man's snarl showed none of the agony he must have felt. He pulled the key-chain out of his pocket with his good hand and fumbled open the lock on her door.

Adrenaline was kicking in now, with everything moving in slow motion. Zimmy reached out and clung to the bar's of the cell, half-climbing up to the door. She looked across the hallway and her heart dropped into a pit.

The bottom half of Captain Anders was buried under a pile of concrete and metal. Her face was bone white, but fierce in its determination. "What are you looking at, cadet? Get out of here. That's a direct order."

"Aine!" Zimmy pushed past Roland, leaping across the tilting hallway to grasp at the bars on the other side. She whipped her head back at Roland, eyes wide. "Roland, gimme the keys! We gotta get the damper off so she can--"

"Elizima!" Aine coughed and held up a hand. Her features softened. "I'm not walking away from this, honey. Can't feel my legs, and my lungs aren't draining. You get out of here if you can. See if you can find any other WARDEN, but prioritize bailing. Roland, get her the fuck off this ship!"

Roland actually saluted the woman, and grabbed Zimmy with his good hand. She wanted to slap him, but her balance was off and his mass pulled her free of the bars. With an angry scream, she hit the hallway floor and slid away from the cells, kicking at Roland to no avail.

"You son of a bitch! You motherfucking SON OF A--" Zimmy's head cracked against the tile, and when her eyes opened again, Roland had her slung over one shoulder, jogging along the outside wall of the ship. "Bitch," she muttered, shaking the stars from her eyes. No luck. "Where are we going?"

"Escape pods," he grunted. "Almost there."

He only made it another three steps before the wall in front of them exploded outward. The wind rushed in with a shriek, tossing them to one side. Zimmy hit the ground with an undignified whump, but she rolled to her feet in full fight-or-flight mode. Roland cursed as he fell, and didn't get up. The spike in his shoulder oozed blood.

Zimmy reached out a hand toward him, and froze as she saw the manacle on her arm. Mist. "Roland!" She shouted. "Roland, gimme the keys! I can save us!"

The man looked at her in abject shock. "Are you fucking serious?"

She couldn't help herself: Zimmy rolled her eyes. "No, I'm married to him! Give me the fucking keys!"

For a millisecond, neither of them moved. Then the wind picked up next to them, howling louder, and Roland broke. He held out the key chain to Zimmy, and she snatched it free. The third key unlocked the damper, and she hurled it away from her.

The power hit her like a sack of bricks, and she almost fell out of the ship. After months of darkness, the mist appeared like a sea of stars: little pin pricks of light that permeated the air, the metal, and all the spaces in between. She could use those dots of light, smoothing them or stretching them.

Or pushing on them. Zimmy darted forward, and with a newfound strength born of magic-infused adrenaline, hoisted the big man up in her arms. She took a few shaky steps, groaning, under the weight.

Then she jumped.

In retrospect, she should have expected the heart-stopping drop. It had been five months since she'd practiced, and flying was hard. They plummeted down and away from the ship, and for the first time Zimmy saw the extend of the damage. The Palatine had been transformed from the pinnacle of a high-class envoy ship into a flaming heap. How? How had it gone wrong so quickly?

A jolt of turbulence refocused her. Right: fly now, hypothesize later. She closed her eyes, reaching out to the sparks. They were slippery, but she was WARDEN, not some common bitch. The wind heeded her call, and gravity phoned in a holiday. She had to extend part of her power to Roland, but she'd flown Ray goddamn Hopkins himself on one of her better days. Roland was a baby in comparison.

The shitty radio spun past her, still playing. Zimmy swore at it out of instinct, and it tumbled away. The ground was rushing up to meet them. They were coming in hot, and shrapnel from the Palatine was coming in hotter. With Roland in tow, should couldn't do much more than lurched to one side or the other, so with a quick prayer to the Dawn, she dropped them a little faster. She aimed for a patch of shrubbery that hadn't been set on fire, and forced as much of her will into the gravity well of Yerin as she could without diving straight into mistburn. At the last second, she twisted Roland to be above her, spiked shoulder facing up.

The landing was not soft. Roland, even at a third his weight, forced the air from her lungs with extreme prejudice. Pain lanced up her side--cracked rib--and she bounced off the shrubs onto the dirt. Roland rolled away from her, coming to a stop a few feet away.

A few seconds later, a resounding boom shook the world, only a short ways away. For a few more seconds, Zimmy lay on her back and stared up at the sky: blue streaked with red, black and gray. Her breath came in gasps, her body ached, and her head swam. Mistburn, then.

Zimmy screamed as she hauled herself to her knees, voice echoing through the countryside. She scrambled for Roland's prone form, swearing under her breath as he didn't move. "Don't be dead don't be dead FUCKING don't be fucking DEAD--"

She put a hand on his neck. She felt a stubborn pulse under her fingers. She collapsed onto his chest and started to sob.
In SPIRITUM 26 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


For me work is picking up a bit these coming weeks, so I'd say lets not count on me to avoid stagnating.
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